Twelve Nights
by KinkyWings
Summary: It was rumored that the Queen of Forks had a heart strong enough to win the war, and Edward was determined to steal it...even if it meant losing his own heart in the process.
1. Day One

A/N: Hello loves! New project for you! This one is based very loosely off of the book Heartless by Marissa Meyer. It was one of the options on the poll, the one that included Queen!Bella, Mysterious!Spy!Edward and a masquerade ball. 3rd person POV alternates each chapter between Edward and Bella. The pairing will ultimately be a BellaxEdward HEA, though there will be plenty of struggles along the way. Stay tuned to see how all those things fall into place. I wish I had the time to dedicate to both stories, but I realize after posting the poll that my time was really limited, so maybe one day I'll get around to the pre-French Revolution story, but at the moment, I am at my capacity for ongoing stories. Anyway, I hope you loves enjoy! XOXOX

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Day One 

Isabella kneaded the dough back and forth in a rhythmic motion, trying to get out all the lumps before it went into the pan. She needed this batch to be perfect, even more perfect than all the batches before it, which was a lot to live up to seeing as though she had been cooking since sunrise and it was well into the afternoon. Not that cooking ever felt like work. No, it was much more of a passion, her greatest joy. She would cook all day and night if it were allowed.

"Careful, or you'll rub your knuckles raw," Angela chided gently as she passed by carrying a pan of quiche. The smell was heavenly, and the crinkled edges had darkened to just the right shade of brown - yet another thing Isabella could check off of her list.

"A casualty in the pursuit of perfection."

"Your cooking is always perfect," Angela replied with a slight roll of her eyes, as if to think otherwise was ridiculous.

"And you are always biased," Isabella retorted with a smile, teasing her friend.

Angela had been up just as early as Isabella, and was usually the only kitchenmaid who entertained her peculiar hobby. Without Angela, the real cooks would have kicked Isabella out of the kitchen years ago. But, it was not Isabella's fault that she was better at it than the entire staff combined, and it was not like she purposely tried to outshine them.

"It's true!" Angela protested, hands digging into the apron wrapped around her waist. "You have been in here for days and I have yet to see a single thing come out of the oven that is not completely and utterly to die for."

"Well, it does not really matter what we think, now does it?" Isabella replied, thinking of all the guests soon to flood the palace ready to stuff their faces on free food and wine. They were her true audience, the ones whose opinions truly mattered.

"Only a fool would _dare_ insult your skills," Angela said, walking over to check the oven. Isabella could feel the heat seeping from its mouth, warming over her skin. She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow and went back to work. The dough was so close to being just right, pliable yet firm.

"I only want everyone at the ball to enjoy the food as much as I do."

"And they will, I promise you. They would have to be without tongues and souls to find displeasure in your cooking," Angela assured, taking Isabella's hands from the dough and squeezing them comfortingly in hers. Isabella had not realized how sore her fingers felt until they were at rest. "Everyone in the kingdom knows of your talent. I'm sure the reason half of these lords and ladies are stepping out of their abodes is to get a taste of what you are making."

"That, and to bend their knees and ears into my private affairs," Isabella stated wryly.

"That too, but you cannot blame them for being curious. It is not their fault that their queen chooses to live the reclusive life of a servant."

Isabella rolled her eyes and shook her head, not dignifying Angela with a response.

Oh, how much easier her life would be if she was not a queen! Even though she was raised in the landed gentry, Isabella despised the attention, the constant poking and prodding. Guilt ate at her constantly. Most girls would do anything to have the kind of life she had, but Isabella felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage. The social mandates of the court made her anxious, like an exotic creature on display, and this ball was the pinnacle of all she despised.

Twelve nights. Twelve nights of parties - of singing and dancing and drinking and merriment. Twelve nights of all eyes on her, scrutinizing her figure, her dress, her hair, her jewels. It was exhausting. She would rather be in the kitchen, elbow deep in grease, than subject herself to that torment.

"He's quite the handsome cad, isn't he?" Angela mused, her lips curled up into a mischievous grin as she shamelessly stared out the window.

The windows in the kitchen lent to a rather spectacular view of the palace grounds, the sprawling gardens and stone steps on dazzling display. It was picturesque, though Isabella knew that it was the pair of gentlemen winding their way around the side of the palace that drew Angela's attention. The two strode side by side, one tall and blond and the other a slight bit shorter with russet colored hair. While the blond was very handsome indeed, it was the other who drew Isabella's attention.

"Yes...quite..." Isabella agreed.

It was true, he was handsome: tall and lean with a creamy complexion, hair neatly combed and slicked back, ink black suit cut in the latest style. Isabella could not see his face, but she assumed it was just as pretty as the rest of him. He could not be from around here; she would have remembered encountering someone like him at court. That was not a surprise though. Nearly every noble, celebrity, and politician from the surrounding lands were coming to the soiree. Shame that such a beauty could only grace her halls for twelve days.

Then, the handsome stranger turned right towards the window. Whether it was his intention or not, his golden brown eyes locked onto her own for the briefest of seconds. Embarrassed, Isabella's cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze back to the dough which was now ready to parse into smaller pieces.

"Though, not as handsome as the king," Angela said, drawing Isabella out of her daze.

"Hmmm...?" Isabella hummed, not quite catching what Angela said, far too focused on rolling small bits of dough onto a pan. She heard something about the king, but she usually droned such things out as she did not like to speak of things that distressed her - such as her husband - while she was in her happy place.

"The king. No man must compare to him."

"I suppose," Isabella shrugged.

Angela cocked Isabella a look. She opened her mouth to say something, but never got the chance.

"Majesty!" a tense voice rang out through the halls. Isabella groaned.

A young woman can bursting into the kitchen, her black maid's uniform rumpled and her white apron askew from her hustle. Dark, frantic eyes scanned the area only to fix on Isabella a moment later. She heaved a sigh of relief and scuffled over to her mistress.

"Thank goodness I found you!" she exclaimed, one hand placed over her heart as she leaned up against the butcher block, feigning exhaustion for effect. "Always in the kitchen. I do not know why I bother checking elsewhere; you are here so often you might as well sleep here."

"Whatever is the matter Alice?" Isabella asked, entertaining her peculiar maid's dramatic tendencies.

" _You_ are the matter!" Alice exclaimed, shooting up and grabbing Isabella by the wrist. "There is only an hour until the ball and you are covered in flour!"

"Is it really so late?"

Isabella looked up at the clock on the wall, the hour hand perilously close to the seven. She had been in the kitchen for nearly ten hours, and yet could stay for a dozen more.

"Yes! Now come along! I must turn you into a queen by the time the King comes to fetch you, or I will be out of a job."

"But...the biscuits..."

Isabella cast a longing gaze to the oven, knowing that her creations were nowhere close to being brown and flaky.

"Can be handled by someone who actually works in the kitchen."

Angela mouthed 'I will get them', to which Isabella nodded gratefully. They would not be as spectacular as they could had she handed them herself, but Angela was the next best cook and the only one Isabella would trust to finish such a job.

Isabella barely had time to convey her thanks before Alice was yanking her arm and pulling her out of the kitchen and down the hall. They wove through myriad maids and other household staff preparing for the night's festivities. Butlers were polishing silver; servants were inserting candles into the chandeliers. Alice even dove under a ladder to procure the quickest route to the queen's chambers on the opposite side of the palace. Isabella was quick to duck her head and avoid any wandering eyes. While it was no secret that she liked to spend her days in the kitchen, she always felt self-conscious about being watched or recognized. The last thing she wanted was a rumor started about how the queen looked like a ragamuffin.

Finally, they reached Isabella's private chambers. Double doors opened to reveal a spacious abode, complete with two separate sitting rooms and entertainment space. There were other maids scurrying about, poking the fire and readying all of the odds and ends for the night. Isabella took one look at her ostentatious crown sitting in the lap of one of the maids as it was cleaned, gems shining in the firelight, and shuddered at the invisible weight on her head.

At the sight of their mistress - or more likely, Alice - all of the other girls got up and started working double time. Jewelry was placed on pillows, new shoes were laid out next to fan made of ostrich feather and white elbow gloves, while all Isabella saw was a whirl of black and white before the room was cleared and she was left alone with Alice.

"There is no time for a bath, but I'll have someone send up some lavender sprigs and honeysuckle that we can tuck into the seams of your gown," Alice fretted, circling Isabella like a hawk as she looked for any and all imperfections to fix. Her eyes narrowed as one small hand lashed out to grasp one of her dark curls. Or, at least it was dark the last time she checked her hair in the morning. Now, it looked vaguely grey.

"Goodness me! You have got flour all in your hair!" Alice cried, now even more stressed. "What am I going to do with you, Majesty?"

"Put me out of my misery," Isabella grumbled.

Of course, Alice's response was to put Isabella into even more misery. The maid scowled deeply and pushed Isabella not-so-gently in the direction of the vanity. Isabella plopped down on the red-velvet lined stool as her hair was yanked and pulled with a comb. She instantly regretted pulling it back into her bandana earlier, all the tangles creating a nest out of her normally compliant hair. Thankfully, Isabella's scalp went numb from the pain half way through the treatment, so she suffered minimally until Alice was finally finished shoving gem-encrusted pins into the tight hive of gentle curls she had created.

"Absolutely stunning, Majesty," Alice praised, pride shining through at her handiwork.

Isabella had to admit, it was a miracle that her hair looked so sophisticated from what it had once been, but it was not her at all. So, she grinned thinly and to the best of her ability, hoping it came off as genuine and not forced. Judging by the way Alice's face fell slightly, Isabella had failed.

Dashing off to the wardrobe, Alice pulled out the monstrosity for the night: a voluminous red taffeta ballgown complete with a corset (or as Isabella called them, death traps) inlaid with diamonds and rubies. It was a dress fit for a queen. Isabella hated it on sight.

"Oh come now," Alice clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the horrified face Isabella was making. "The seamstresses worked tirelessly on this one. It is a work of art that any woman would be lucky to wear."

"Any woman except me."

Alice frowned. Isabella knew that her maid must think her the most spoilt, ungrateful brat in the entire kingdom, but she simply did not understand that Isabella found pleasure in the simple things. She did not need nor want such extravagance. For the hundredth time that day, Isabella pondered how this life would be better suited for someone who appreciated such things. If only she had not drawn the eye of the king...if only she had been born a simple peasant...perhaps life would be simpler.

Then again, so many people in the kingdom were poor, starving even. Every day she heard pleas and petitions for the king to do something, anything, to relieve the conditions of the underprivileged, and every day the king gave them a sympathetic ear and the same phrase: "We are doing all we can." It made Isabella's heart bleed, and her blood boil. How those women with so little, who worked themselves to the bone, would kill for even a taste of what she had. Alice was right - any woman would be lucky to live such a life of luxury.

Then, an insane idea sprang to life inside her mind.

"Alice..." Isabella started, unsure of how to even phrase her insane request. "How about you attend the ball in my place."

"That is very funny, Majesty, but I do believe the people want to see the queen, not the queen's head maid."

"But what if you were the queen...took my place per say?"

"Nonsense!" Alice brushed off the request, thinking Isabella was joking with her like usual. "There is not a chance I could fool anyone, Majesty. I am nearly a head shorter than you."

"Nothing a good pair of heels cannot fix," Isabella replied, the wheels turning in her brain faster than she could keep up with. "And we are the same size in dress, so nothing would have to be altered. If I lent you some hair extensions and pulled them up into a chignon, no one would notice the difference in length. Our eyes are close to the same shade of brown; we have the same pale complexion..."

"Oh dear me, you are serious aren't you?" Alice blanched, now eyeing Isabella skeptically, as if she had gone mad.

Isabella nodded, and Alice shook her head vehemently.

"What of our voices?"

"It will be far too loud for anyone to spot the difference. Besides, I do not make public appearances often; I doubt the majority of the populace even remembers my face, nonetheless the sound of my voice."

"And the King?"

"Will be so thrilled by my attendance that I doubt he will give me much thought outside of the first dance, for which no words are required."

"N-no! This is madness! I could not possibly...it is the first night!" Alice spluttered, completely overwhelmed. "There is the commencement speech and first dance and - "

"All things you have been rehearsing with me for weeks," Isabella pressed, trying her best to bring Alice onboard with this crazy idea. "You know everything just as well, if not better than I do. Please, Alice, do this for me. Go to the ball, wear this lovely dress, sip wine, dance with strangers, and leave me here to relax in peace."

Alice bit down on her lip, torn. It was evident by the spark in her eye that she wished to go to the ball. The petite maid had done nothing but gush about how exciting the preparations were and how she looked forward to sampling all the food and admiring the glamorous women. It would be like a dream come true for her, a fairytale. All her life Alice had served royalty, and now she could have the chance to _be_ royalty.

"I don't know..."

"If you incur any trouble, blame it all on me and I shall never coerce you into such a ruse ever again," Isabella rushed to supplement, ready to say whatever it would take to seal the deal before she lost Alice's interest permanently.

That seemed to do the trick, the maid looking up at her mistress shrewdly. "Do you swear it?"

"I swear," Isabella promised, crossing her heart for added effect.

With that, the last bit of Alice's resolve crumbled away and nervous excitement took its place. "Oh, alright, I suppose one night won't hurt."

"Thank you!" Isabella cried, pulling her maid into a crushing hug. "Thank you a million times over Alice!"

"Yes, yes, all in the name of duty, Majesty," Alice replied modestly, patting Isabella on the back twice before pulling away.

"Now, let's get you in that dress," Isabella clapped her hands together, eyeing Alice up and down, ready to take on this new project. "We have just under an hour to convince the world that you are the Queen of Forks."


	2. Night One

A/N: Hello loves! I forgot to mention that this story will have some slight fantasy elements to it. Definitely not as in your face as The River God's Wife, but a little bit here and there. Obviously Forks is a make believe kingdom, and the time period seems wonky, but that's just because of the nature of the fairy tale. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! XOXOX

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Night One

Edward stood off to the side of the ballroom, watching elegant people glide across the dance floor in time to the sound of the orchestra. He knew he should be socializing, making nice with all the lords and ladies, but he found watching to be far more effective. From this distance, he could really focus on the little things, the tiny quirks that distinguished someone from everyone else. Tonight that would not be a problem. Everyone had already given themselves away; their choice in masks assured it.

He had selected his mask strategically: simple, black, and without decoration. Completely forgettable yet still fashionable, the perfect combination to go unnoticed. Everyone else had picked their masks to draw attention, gold-gilded creations adorned with jewels and feathers and lace as if to say 'look how much better I am'. It spoke volumes of the kind of people they were, the kind of self-absorbed aristocrats he waded among.

The woman with peacock feathers was desperately clinging to youth that her blossoming daughter had begun to steal. The man with red velvet and matching vest was putting his limited income on display, desperately trying to fit into a society that was echelons above his station. The couple who matched were insecure in their relationship, and so felt the need to claim one another; they were unlikely to last the winter before bitterness set in and he took a mistress. All of these things were plain on display, at least to the trained eye. However, none were even remotely interesting. None were what he searched for, and Edward was losing patience.

"There you are," Jasper said as he approached, stopping just shy of Edward's side.

He was dressed identical to Edward: black suit fitted across broad shoulders, the only pop of color being the white cravat wrapped around his neck. They even wore the same black mask. The only thing that kept them apart was the fact that Jasper had golden blonde hair, darkened only slightly by the product he had used to slick back the natural head of curls. And of course, brown eyes so dark that were more like two bottomless voids that unnerved Edward to no end.

"How did you know it was me?" Edward asked

"I always know. Even under a mask, you give yourself away. It is the way you brood so pretentiously," Jasper replied, Edward choosing to ignore the dig from his superior officer. Only a few years older and Jasper loved to rub his superior skill in Edward's face every chance he got. "I thought I had lost you."

"Worried?"

"Only if you had actually gone missing," Jasper dismissed casually, though Edward had been with him long enough to know that each word out of the older man's mouth was carefully chosen. "But, then again, I have no reason to question your loyalty."

Edward grit his teeth and tried not to curse. "My loyalty is to the crown."

"So we are good then," Jasper concluded, though the coldness in his stare let Edward know that he was far from out of the woods.

Jasper was always the paranoid sort - could never trust anyone for as far as he could throw them. It was what made him so good at his job. It was what made him the best. At least, he was the best until Edward came along. Edward always assumed that Jasper held resentment about that, saw him as more of a competitor than a partner.

"Have you found her?" Edward asked, shifting to a safer topic, and there was nothing safer than work.

"Not yet," Jasper said with a frown, checking his pocket watch for the fifth time since they arrived, and they had only been there an hour. "Our queen likes to take her time, does she not?"

"She is a woman. Aren't they all obsessed with powdering their noses and coiffing their hair?" Edward asked, canting one leg up against the wall, not caring that it was a display of bad manners.

Jasper actually managed a grin, and a wolfish one at that. "I would not know. I haven't the time for such indulgences."

"Shocking..." Edward hummed, raising his brow with lackluster enthusiasm. The fact that Jasper did not make time for women came to no shock at all. He lived, breathed, slept, and probably shat work. If Jasper could crawl any further up the king's ass, he would exit through his mouth. Not that Edward had much experience either. Everyone around him worked with him, and in his line of work, death was a constant companion. He could barely get to know names before he was bringing back their bodies.

Jasper did not miss the sarcasm, and narrowed his eyes in distaste. "I am going to make another sweep of the room. You keep your eyes and ears open for word of the queen."

"Yes, sir," Edward mock saluted, though Jasper was already too far away to hear him, bustling off into the congested crowd.

Edward rolled his eyes. For a man so stoic and unfeeling, Jasper certainly was a sensitive bastard.

 _Keep you eyes and ears open._ As if he needed a basic reminder to do something he had already been doing all evening. Still, he should probably move around to look as though he were actually doing something.

Walking slowly around the edges of the ballroom, Edward tried to be attentive as possible. No one knew where the queen was, but she was all most seemed to talk about - what fashions she would be sporting, who she would elect to dance with, how rare this outing was and were they not the luckiest people alive to witness such an occasion. It was all nauseatingly simple. He had to fight the urge to gag.

Finally, someone did catch his attention, but it was not the queen. It was someone he had not seen in years. Someone he had long since shoved into the back corners of his mind, never to be thought of until this very moment. This someone caught his eye as well, and even through a mask, they both recognized one another.

One can never forget family after all.

The man stopped dancing with the blonde woman at his side, and though she looked disgruntled to halt the merriment, whatever he lent down to whisper in her ear had her placated once more. She smiled and skipped away with her lady friends to the next source of entertainment while he made a bee-line for Edward.

Edward could feel his pulse racing. He had no idea how to act, what to do, what to say. What exactly did one say to their estranged sibling? What was the protocol for such a meeting, especially during work hours in a high-stakes situation?

"Edward, it has been a long time."

"Emmett," Edward replied tersely, discomfort radiating through all the bones in his body, and he hoped his stiff posture was not portrayed as extreme as it felt.

They stood in terse silence for a long time, each sizing the other up. Emmett looked the same as he did the last time Edward saw him nearly ten years ago, though he had broadened in the shoulders and chest and grown at least another five inches. His suit was well-tailored and cut to fit perfectly, telling Edward that his brother had made a living for himself, enough to afford fine things and be invited to such a prestigious event. The golden band wrapped around his left ring finger indicated that the blonde was more than just a paramour, but his wife. Strange, that he would not want to introduce his brother to her, and Edward found his mood quickly souring at the thought of being someone's dirty secret. Then again, with this fancy new life, Edward wondered how much of the past Emmett had truly told his wife and a thrill went down Edward's spine at how much damage his appearance could cause his brother.

There was no telling what Emmett was reading off of Edward, and he loathed to think that he had let his guard down enough to let Emmett read much. But Emmett always had a way of reading Edward that was uncanny and terrifying when he was a child. Watching Emmett practice reading people was what first inspired Edward to pursue espionage. Wanting to finally best his brother was what now made Edward one of the best.

"I must admit, it is surprising to see you here," Emmett said, running a hand through the back of his short dark hair. "What brings you to Forks?"

"I am here on business for the King."

"The King?" Emmett asked, visibly surprised as his brown eyes widened comically underneath his black, gold-embroidered mask. "So he has actually managed to seize the throne?"

"No, but we are close."

Edward shifted on his feet, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"And how long has Marcus been saying that?" Emmett asked, though the pointed tension in his tone suggested that this was quickly going to turn into an argument. "This war has been waged for nearly fifty years, blood of the young being spilled for old men without heir or issue. One will no sooner win then keel over and leave their crumbling nation to descend into further chaos."

"That crumbling nation is our _home_ ," Edward said forcefully, reminding Emmett of where he came from.

"It _was_ my home," Emmett corrected, which stung Edward more than he cared to admit. It was like his brother was not only rejecting their homeland, but rejecting him as well. "Nothing can save that place. It is a failed state. You should get out of Volterra while you still can."

 _This from the defector, the traitor, the runaway?_ Edward rattled off in his mind. He wanted to tear into his brother, give Emmett a piece of his mind, but he held his tongue.

"Your concern is kind, but I will take my chances," he chose to say instead, taking a step back to regain personal space. Their conversation was growing too heated. There were too many prying eyes, too many witnesses for Edward's liking that would ruin his chances at remaining a ghost.

"Then I hope your path serves you well," Emmett sighed, giving up on this battle. "Know that you are always welcome in my home, so long as you leave your work at the door."

"It used to be your work as well," Edward reminded him. "You were good at it."

"Not anymore," Emmett said firmly, with a smile as he reached out to clasp his brother's shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of the ball Edward."

Edward watched his brother turn his back on him, physically this time instead of just metaphorically, and not look back. The blood in Edward's veins boiled. The more violent side of him did not want to let his brother go so easily. The loyalist side of him wanted to place Emmett in manacles and drag him back to Volterra against his will to face trial for his crimes. But the man, the young boy left in an empty house in the middle of the night with no explanation, just wanted his brother back. It was a terrible conflict of emotion that left Edward gaping in the middle of the room until Jasper made his return.

"Was that your traitor brother?" Jasper asked, glaring menacingly in Emmett's direction. "I am surprised that he is still allowed to breathe - there was once a time when desertion was handled with the sharp edge of an ax."

"We have more important things to worry about" Edward grit his teeth, changing the subject altogether, wanting to get his brother's words out of his head. They were distracting, counterproductive, and poisonous to the task at hand.

Thankfully, the task made itself front and center with a very important arrival.

The footman blared his horn, silencing all chatter so that everyone's attention was drawn to the ravishing creature standing at the top of the marble staircase.

"Introducing Her Majesty, Queen Isabella!"

Slowly, the queen descended the red carpeted steps. She was the picture of grace and elegance, every move measured and thought-out even though she had done little more than lift her chin and put one foot in front of the other. The King waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs with awe-struck eyes. The guests oohed and ahhed over her dazzling display of finery - eyes glued to the sparkling crown atop her nest of curls, the netted collar of gems at her throat, and the delicate silver and black lace mask. They basked in her spotlight and Edward knew the moment her gloved hand fell into the King's, that there would be a swarm of socialites by her side a dozen thick.

Yet, despite all the pomp and circumstance, Edward felt very...underwhelmed.

For months now, he had been told stories about the Queen of Forks. About how beautiful she was, about how kind and just she was, about how strong she was. Her heart was what was going to win Marcus the war. Now, being mere meters from where she stood, Edward could not help the disinterest from growing. Yes, she was beautiful. Her smile was kind. He was sure she was just. But she was nothing special. Just another woman in a slightly bigger, more complex dress.

"She is a vision, is she not?" Jasper appraised. He must have been seeing what everyone else saw, because Edward had never seen him so enraptured by a human being.

"Yes, I suppose she is," Edward agreed diplomatically enough to appease his moody partner.

Duty told him that he should begin pushing forward and carving a path towards the royals. Responsibility told him to get a handle on himself and do his job despite the sudden disinterest. There was more at stake than his own entertainment.

"How about you take the lead on this one," Edward suggested, and Jasper turned to Edward sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Do not give me that look. I simply know that you have been aching to get back into the field for ages. The queen does not need the both of us whispering in her ear. One is sufficient to win her affection, and you seem to be far more captivated with her than me."

"Are you insulting me?"

"Nothing of the sort. Simply, a genuine captivation leads to genuine flattery and then genuine trust," Edward rationed as he clasped Jasper on the shoulder in support, nails digging in a bit too tight to be considered friendly. But then again, he and Jasper weren't friends. After this mission, they were going to go their separate ways and never speak to one another again. "One to win her heart, and the other to cut it out. That was the plan, was it not?"

"Agreed. So long as you have the stomach to follow through."

Edward snarled, finally at his wit's end.

"Doubt my dedication again, and I'll present Marcus with two hearts instead of one."

Edward was tired of Jasper's tests. He was tired of being scrutinized. If being blatantly rude was what it took to get the man off his back, he was not above making a new enemy. Except, Jasper smiled and took a step back approvingly, as if that kind of reaction was the one he was waiting for this entire time.

"I believe I shall be occupied for the rest of the night," Jasper said, plucking Edward's fingers off his jacket so he could smooth out the wrinkles. "Run a perimeter while I am gone. See what else you can gather from those guests who are not a total waste of air. Every little bit helps."

"Best of luck," Edward tipped his head slightly in dismissal, ready to be left the hell alone. He did not need to be told how to do his job or what was at stake.

However, distraction seemed in abundance tonight, for not even two steps into starting a perimeter had something else halted him in his tracks. Someone else, to be more precise.

Across the way, a young woman peered out from behind the red velvet curtains. Servants had been ducking in and out of that pass all night, though something about her was different. Her hair was surprisingly well done, but her dress was a plain olive green without any frills or fripperies attached instead of the traditional black and white uniform. Most intriguing yet was that none of her attention turned towards the queen. Instead, she seemed focused on one thing, and one thing only: the buffet table.

It was only when she turned to scope out the rest of the ballroom and those chocolate brown eyes found his that he recognized where he had seen her before.

 _Kitchen girl_ , his mind supplied.

And like before, her cheeks flushed that lovely shade of pink, and she ducked her head to avoid his gaze. She would have had to look away anyhow, her friend pulling harshly on her arm as if to drag her away from the merriment and shove her back behind the curtain where she belonged. Perhaps servants were not allowed to mingle amongst the upper class, or at least servants who were improperly dressed for such an occasion. Once more, it was not the merriment that held this girl in place, but the food. More specifically those who were consuming the food.

 _Curious_. She was willing disobey orders and risk punishment or dismissal just to see if people liked her creations. That was a dedication that was hard to find these days, and Edward found himself having a shred of respect for her. Strange how this simple kitchen girl with the soft brown eyes was turning out to be the most interesting thing at the masquerade.

Edward walked over to the buffet table, suddenly having the urge to know what all the fuss was about. He chanced a glance across the room to be sure he was safe to proceed, finding Jasper already beside the king and queen, chatting them up with a charm that was entirely false and slightly unnerving. It were as if he were two separate people. But, it appeared that he had things handled, so Edward supposed it would not hurt to take a few minutes to himself...

There was so much variety available: roasts, pot pies, quiche, deviled eggs, candied yams, and the flakiest golden brown biscuits he had ever laid eyes on. It was a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach. Edward hardly knew where to start. So, he began with the simplest of foods. He plucked one biscuit from the center of the tray, warmth seeping through his gloved hands. It smelled divine, and his insides growled as he realized that he had yet to eat since arriving. There had been so much to do, between settling in his new abode and gathering his bearings in this strange new land, it must have slipped his mind.

The first bite was sheer heaven. The crust flaked off into buttery layers that nearly melted on his tongue. He nearly wolfed the rest of it down in a single bite, but maintained composure for appearance's sake. Manners did not stop him from retrieving another, adding a few other things to his plate this time. If the biscuit were that good, then he could not wait to try the rest. The kitchen girl should be proud of her work. She had a gift.

Speak of the devil, as Edward took another look around, he found the kitchen girl staring right at him, and this time she did not look away. Whatever she saw in his expression, she liked. It was the praise she had been seeking, the validation she needed, and Edward was glad to give it to her.

They stood that way for an eternity, or at least what felt like an eternity, before the kitchen girl broke her spell and disappeared behind the curtain.

Quick on his feet, Edward followed after her, but when he drew back the curtain, she was already gone.


	3. Day Two

A/N : Hello loves! Back to Isabella's point of view for this one. Thank you kind reader for the rec on A Different Forest! I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying this story :) I've not abandoned my other ones, this one just seems to have the forefront of my mind these days. XOXOX!

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Day Two

The kitchen was hot, and the day even hotter for the autumn weather.

Isabella had chosen a dress made of breathable blue cotton and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and yet it provided no relief from the sweltering heat. The added furnace of the oven was only perpetuating the misery. Even Angela, who was perpetually cold, was pulling at the collar of her uniform, her cheeks flushed a bright red. Isabella was sure her face looked no different. The only bit of cool came from when the sweat dried on the back of her neck, soaking the baby hairs that did not get pulled up into the bun atop her head.

Still, the heat was necessary. Isabella was baking loaves of bread, nearly a dozen at a time, and needed to make at least three more batches for there to be an acceptable amount for the night. She had noticed the bread was the first to go the previous night, and did not want to make the same mistake twice. Even if she were not there to see them, there was nothing worse than malcontent guests.

"I really do not see the need for all this," Angela complained, leaning over a stool to catch her breath. She had been hauling in flour from the mill all morning to satisfy Isabella's needs, and her back was surely close to giving out. "There were plenty more delicacies for the lords and ladies to choose from."

"Yes, but running short of anything does not give off a good impression," Isabella explained, measuring out more yeast for the next batch. Her fingers were swollen and rubbed raw; she would have liked nothing more than to soak them in cool water, but there was still work to be done.

"Why not take a break, let the rest of the staff do their jobs," Angela suggested, staring at Isabella's hands worriedly while she flexed them.

"They are all busy with other things," Isabella said as she shook her head. "There are calves to slaughter and salt, eggs to be collected, cakes to be frosted...far too much to let one person go."

"Yes, but - "

"No buts Angela. I am doing this, and you cannot stop me."

Angela grinned wryly. "Just as I could not stop you from sneaking into the ball."

Isabella merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew that they were bound to head into this territory at some point.

"Honestly, that was risky, Majesty. You wore no mask. What if someone spotted you?"

 _Someone did_ , Isabella thought to herself, suddenly transported back to the ballroom where she encountered a man with the most exquisite pair of green eyes. She could not tell Angela this, for she would surely explode into frantic screeches. That, and she could not keep a secret to save her life. Angela would tell Alice, then Alice would give Isabella a lecture so long and scathing that she could forget asking anything else of her maid ever again.

"I was careful, you made sure of it," Isabella chose to say instead.

"What would you do without me?" Angela teased, though she looked proud of herself.

Isabella merely laughed and continued creating more dough. The steps were so ingrained in her mind that she could perform them without thinking. Her body moved on its own, which allowed her to think about other things.

Yes, it was a huge risk she took going out into the ball without a mask. Yes, it was a childish want to seek validation and praise from guests who did not care where their food came from. And yes, she probably could have just asked the lords and ladies when they came around on social visits during the day. But it was not the same to hear things secondhand then to be there in the moment. There was something raw and unhindered about an initial reaction, something honest that was unable to be replicated. Especially from the man with the green eyes.

Part of Isabella wished she could have stayed to speak to the man. Some part of her wanted to know more about him. They had been drawn into one another's paths twice in one day. That could not have been coincidence...could it?

Footsteps came clicking into the kitchen - the heels of the household staff, not the kitchen. Looking up, Isabella saw Alice walking towards the counter, still half-dazed. The poor girl, she had slept in so late. Isabella woke up at dawn to get to work early, and she had spied Alice asleep on the sofa in the sitting area of her chambers, half out of the red ballgown with hair wildly askew. Now, Alice had taken the time to re-don her black uniform and white apron, her hair smoothed back though not as neat as it usually would have been.

"Tired Alice?" Angela asked, her tone teasing as she took in the shadows under Alice's eyes. "I have never seen you so quiet."

"Yes, it looks as though someone had a pleasant night," Isabella agreed, smiling at her maid who was doing poorly at disguising her excitement as annoyance.

"Oh both of you shush," Alice waved off, one hand used to cover her mouth as she hid a large yawn.

"I cannot believe you actually got her to agree," Angela marveled at Isabella, shaking her head.

"I cannot believe I agreed either," Alice confessed as she pulled up a stool. "Though, I must admit, I had a wonderful time. Majesty, I do not understand your distaste for such splendid events."

"Perhaps this life has left me jaded," Isabella surmised, knowing it to be true. The entire palace could burn to the ground around her, and she would not care in the slightest. It had never felt like a home anyway. "It brought me joy to donate a night to someone who would truly appreciate the grandeur."

"That it did," Alice said with a dreamy smile as she reminisced the previous night, though there was melancholy around the edges. "Though, it is back to the swing of things I suppose."

Isabella sighed, knowing this to be true. Their one night of freedom was over. But as she looked down at her hands, so beaten from hours of cooking, and her hair which was covered in flour and her skin which was covered in sweat and then compared herself to Alice, who even with minimal sleep and bags under her eyes looked far more kept and put together, she came to a startling ideation.

"Alice, I know that I told you one night, but what if it was more than that?"

"What are you saying, Majesty?" Alice asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What if you took my place for all twelve nights."

Angela dropped the pot she was scrubbing, the metal clanging against the floor with a loud bang, yet she could not be bothered to pick it up due to her sheer shock. Alice did not seem to be taking the proposition any differently, her mouth floundering like a fish.

"One night is one thing, but the _entire_ masquerade!" Alice gasped, her face going white as a sheet as she lowered her voice and looked around to make sure they were alone. "That is far too risky Majesty! We would be discovered...I could be banished, or worse, beheaded for treason..."

"Do not be so dramatic Alice. No horrible fate will fall upon you for playing dress up in my clothes, especially if I gave you permission," Isabella laughed, the notion ridiculous. Even if Alice did incur some kind of trouble, Isabella would pardon her maid's actions with a wave of her hand. There was nothing to lose, and so much to gain. Alice could gain the fairytale life she always wanted, and Isabella could be free to be herself for twelve days.

"I fear the heat has fried your brain," Alice chided, looking for another window to open.

"I do not think it is so impossible. From what I could tell, you played the part splendidly. I could not have been more queenly myself," Isabella praised.

"From what you could _tell_?" Alice asked, her tone dangerously low, and Isabella immediately knew she had misspoke.

"A figure of speech," Isabella shrugged, purposely walking away towards the sink so Alice could not interrogate her. Isabella did not want to ruin her chances of getting what she wanted just because of Alice's overprotective, worrisome nerves.

"Angela, what is going on?" Alice demanded, knowing that Isabella was not going to say any more.

"N-nothing," Angela stammered, choosing to keep her mouth shut after Isabella sent her a rather pointed glare.

"Whatever this is, whatever you two are planning, I want no part in it," Alice crossed her arms over her chest obstinately. "I agreed to one night and one night alone. You will simply have to suck up your pride and attend the ball like a dutiful queen, Majesty."

"Alice, come now, do not be like this," Isabella whined, near begging. "What have I ever done to earn such scorn?"

"Not scorn, _sense_ ," Alice corrected, looking very high and mighty.

"What if I doubled your salary for the week?" Isabella suggested, not afraid to go as low as to bribe her staff for what she wanted. "Tripled?"

"Good heavens, for that money, I will be the queen!" Angela gasped. Isabella would have considered the notion had Angela resembled her more, but now that Alice had claimed the queenly persona for one night, someone would surely notice another imposter taking Isabella's place. The people might have been dull and easily swayed, but they were not that oblivious.

"Please, Alice. I need you to do this for me," Isabella pleaded, one step away from getting on her knees and groveling at Alice's feet.

Alice looked down at Isabella worriedly, as if seeing her for the first time. "You truly are desperate, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

Perhaps it was the honesty in her eyes, or the near tears that shimmered there, but Isabella was breaking her maid down. She could tell the longer she stayed in this state of need, the quicker Alice crumbled. It did not take long, Alice rubbing at her temples wearily while she finally gave in.

"Oh, alright," Alice sighed, looking worn out yet there was no disguising the slight hint of excitement in her eyes at the prospect of rejoining society. "The things I do for you Majesty, I swear it will get me killed one day."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Isabella chirped with glee, spinning Alice around in a joyful circle. "I have no idea how to repay such a kindness."

"There is no need to repay me for doing my job, Majesty. Though do not thank me just yet. Let us get to the end of the ball before we can call this charade a success."

Of course Alice would be the one to bring reality back into the situation, but Isabella could not be bothered to come down from her cloud. Her heart was soaring above the clouds, imagining a whole week and a half of nothing but baking, long walks in the woods, and days unburdened by social calls and tedious meals. While Alice was the queen, Isabella would be free to live the simple life she always wanted, and while it would not be permanent, she would be forever grateful to Alice for this once in a lifetime vacation.

"Now, there are only a few hours until the festivities start for the night," Isabella said, clapping her powdery hands together so they made a cloud of flour. "Angela and I still have the roast to prepare, and you, my dear sweet Alice, have to be pampered like the queen you are!"

"This feels like a dream," Alice said, eyes glazed over in a daze as she realized that this was truly happening.

"Get used to it, and keep your head held high," Isabella instructed, gently pulling up Alice's chin with her finger and thumb. "You are the Queen of Forks now, and you bow down to no one."

Alice nodded deftly as she was escorted out the kitchen by Isabella, who pulled Angela along with her as well. Alice would need help getting ready, and it made sense that the other person who knew of this switch be there to pull the whole thing off. Besides, Angela was beside herself, practically buzzing with unstoppable energy.

"I feel as though I am part of some grand conspiracy," Angela chittered, bouncing on her toes in excitement as she followed Alice out of the kitchen.

Isabella laughed as she watched her two closest friends scurry away, so enthralled by things Isabella could do without. She meant what she said earlier; it brought her joy to bring such happiness to Alice. If she could give away all her riches to those who would better appreciate them, she would. But being queen meant suffering all the parts of being queen, not only the ruling but the asinine traditions of the court which included dressing up like an oversized peacock. Isabella never saw the purpose in balls or parties - the painful, outdated things they were. How did showing up make her a better ruler? What did debauchery have to do with leading a nation? No, it did not make sense, and so if Alice wanted to have fun in her place, Isabella was more than happy to give that to her.

Besides, now she could try out a new chicken recipe she had been dying to sink her hands into. It would be a challenge, that was for sure, but she was more than willing to rise to the occasion. Now, if only she could find the right knife...

"Please forgive me for the intrusion, but I believe I have become lost on my way to the garden."

Rummaging amongst the silver drawer ceased, and Isabella spun around to face the intruder. Even without the mask, she recognized him immediately. Tall, pale, impeccably dressed, and that pair of gorgeous green eyes that locked onto hers with a startling intensity. Her mind started whirling in circles, conflicted between enjoying the company of her handsome stranger and fearing for what would happen next. Surely, he had to recognize her. He recognized her and would blow her cover wide open, ruining any other chances she had of escaping into anonymity. Still, he said nothing, and Isabella realized it was because he was waiting for her to give him directions.

Taking in a deep breath, she forced herself to calm back down and assume her meager role. "That is understandable. The palace can be a bit of a challenge to navigate for one's first time."

Cocking his head to the side, he stepped further into the kitchen and asked playfully, "How do you know I have not been here before?"

"Shall I begin with your accent?" She asked cheekily, unable to stop herself from grinning.

"Very well," Edward conceded, taking a step forward so his hip rest against the butcher's block. He was staring at her with intent now, and Isabella felt a new heat completely unrelated to the weather. "I recognize those eyes. You are the girl I saw through the window."

"I suppose so," she replied, a flippant quality to her tone that only increased his intrigue. "Then that makes you the man in the mask?"

"That it does. Allow me to make a formal introduction. I am Edward Masen," he said with a winning smile. "And you are?"

Did he truly not know who she was? All this time, she thought his flirtation a game, but now she was not sure. A servant in a mask was an easy enough guise, but exposed in broad day was another matter entirely. Her likeness was displayed a number of places; there were royal portraits, stamps, and the paper to name a few. It was a rare occasion to meet someone so uninformed, and she took advantage of this rare opportunity.

"Alice. I am a cook for the palace."

Isabella had no idea why she was lying to him. He seemed nice enough, an honest gentleman with noble intentions...outside of socializing with young women without the proper chaperones.

"So you are the one responsible for all the delicious treats at the ball?"

"Yes," she nodded, feeling pride bloom in her chest. "Were they to your liking?"

"Absolutely. The best I have ever tasted. You truly have a gift, good madam," Edward commended, and though he did not hide his passion, he did not seem disingenuous. "Tell me, why do you not attend the masquerade? I believe a character such as yourself would be the belle of any ball."

Isabella scoffed, his compliments stretching too far as she knew her current state was anything but attractive. "The Twelve Night's Masquerade, Forks' most anticipated and renowned event of the year in which only the richest and most noble families attend? That is hardly the place for a simple baker."

"I very much doubt that you are a simple baker."

"Excuse me?"

"You surely do not act like one. You are covered in flour, yet carry yourself tall and speak with the ease of the landed gentry without the use of formalities."

"I apologize if I have offended you _My Lord_ ," Isabella amended, making sure to stress the title she had so foolishly forgotten. If she were truly going to keep up her ruse, she needed to remember that she was no longer above everyone else. Servants used titles. Titles were signs of respect. Not that she respected this man per say. He intrigued her, excited her, and slightly irritated her with his questions that were flirtatious yet deceptively invasive.

"Oh no," Edward insisted, as if his words had been taken the wrong way. "It is refreshing to find one comfortable enough to converse as an equal. I think it is an admirable trait."

It was then when Isabella realized that they had stepped closer to one another, less than an arm's length between them. She had never had another man this close to her before, no man except her father and her husband. It was thrilling in a forbidden way, and Isabella found herself thinking that she would not mind if Edward was to wander just a little closer.

Naturally, Angela chose this time to reemerge, stepping into the kitchen without pretense.

"Majesty..."

"...needs her tea, you are absolutely right. Do you mind fetching it Angela?" Isabella said in a hurry, looking pointedly in Angela's direction, a hint for her to leave. Thankfully, the girl obeyed. She nodded, though still confused to see Isabella entertaining a guest, and headed back out the door in the direction of where they kept the tea tray.

"What was that about?" Edward asked, his brow knit as a perplexed look washed over his features. He was starting to stare at her with something more than curiosity...suspicion, and Isabella knew she needed to act. Fast.

"Angela had a fanciful imagination. She is very peculiar, does not get out much I am afraid," Isabella rushed to explain. She felt badly for defaming her friend, but it was necessary to maintain her new cover.

Edward seemed quick to accept this proposed story, nodding sympathetically in Angela's direction.

"You ladies seem very busy. I do not mean to keep you from your work, but perhaps I can come around again sometime, say tomorrow?"

"I would like that," Isabella said as she smiled, her cheeks burning as they flushed. "I could make you something, if you'd like."

"Good madam, you spoil me," he teased, the grin on his face devilishly handsome.

"You would have to tell me what you like," Isabella prompted.

"I trust your judgement," Edward replied coyly, tipping the brim of his hat as he backed into the entryway. "Until tomorrow, Miss Alice."

With that, he exited the kitchen. Yet, Isabella could still smell the musk and spice of his cologne, could feel her skin still prickled from the heat of his skin and the velvet of his jacket. Her heart was hammering out of her chest, and for the life of her, she could not get it to stop. She had never felt like this before, never been this enthralled with another human being.

Was this what attraction felt like? She had never experience that before either, not even with her own husband. But that was a long story that brought her more resentment than fuzzy feelings. Isabella much preferred the feelings Edward elicited...Edward, that beautiful, mysterious stranger with the captivating smile that made her stomach do flips.

"Oh!" Angela squealed as she rushed back into the kitchen from her perch behind the wall, slapping Isabella lightly on the arm, equal parts enthralled and terrified. "What are you playing at?"

"It is nothing," Isabella fended off Angela's attack, trying to put her brain back into a cooking mindset, only to find her thoughts flooded with slight smiles and green eyes. She shook her head. "Just a simple flirtation is all."

"Try telling him that!" Angela insisted, rushing over to the window, peering out on her tiptoes as she tried to catch a glimpse of Edward's fading figure. "That poor man looked absolutely taken with you - the queen! A married woman! And you encouraged it!"

"I encouraged _nothing_ ," Isabella refuted strongly even though she knew it was a lie, pulling up her full height and all the queenly might she could muster. "It is a simple flirtation, nothing more. Now, can we please drop this and return to the task at hand?"

Angela blinked, not used to a woman she had grown used to thinking was her friend pull rank in such a blatant manner.

"I suppose I am just jealous is all," Angela spoke softly, cutting vegetables into even chunks. "You never make _me_ anything special."

Tried though she may, Isabella cracked a thin smile. A laugh escaped her lips, and she bumped playfully into Angela's hip to let her know all was forgiven. She could never stay cross with her friend for long.


	4. Night Two

A/N: In this chapter, we finally meet the king! Hopefully this clears up a few of the questions about Isabella's relationship with her husband. Of course, there is more to come on this subject in later chapters too. Also, despite what happens in this chapter (or in any) I'm just reminding you that this is a Bella/Edward HEA. Hope you all enjoy! XOXOX!

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Night Two

The ball was just as stifling the second night as it was the first.

Edward reassumed his perch against the side wall, watching the partygoers with contempt out of his black mask. They were no more interesting than the night before - the same examples of debauchery and splendor as they squandered their fortunes on gowns and jewels and elaborate masks. Such ignorance and carelessness plagued this nation. They knew nothing of famine nor terror nor strife. Edward doubted any of these lords or ladies had to fight for anything in their entire lives. They would not last a day in the mountains of Volterra, and the thought of these nobles fighting over food or shelter was one of the few things that brought a smile to Edward's face.

Idly, he cast his gaze to the center of the room where the queen - a vision in red - was dancing with her tenth partner of the night. How her feet had not fallen off was a mystery. How Jasper had not managed to catch her eye once was another. Last night, they seemed taken with one another. She had laughed at his jokes and flushed at his compliments, but tonight she had barely spoken a word to him. Perhaps the bastard had managed to let his veneer slip and said something unsavory. Edward would not be surprised. Jasper had been out of the field for a while; perhaps he was rustier than his ego would admit.

A servant carrying a tray of champagne passed under Edward's nose, and he snagged a glass with nimble fingers. The sweet drink was gone within seconds, the buzz of alcohol taking the edge off of this wearisome night. Edward was cautious not to push him limits; he had to remain alert and professional. However, if he did not partake in something, he was likely to die of boredom.

Briefly, his eyes took him to the banquet table, a host of roasts and sides arranged in a colorful display. They looked just as savory and smelled just as delicious as the spread from the previous night. The kitchen girl had truly outdone herself. _Alice_ , Edward remembered her name, just as sweet and simple as the girl it belonged to. He wondered if he would get the chance to see Alice again, if her head would pop from the curtains and she would grace him with her most unusual presence. She was a mystery, almost as much of a mystery as he was making himself to be, and that drew him to her. He wanted to know more about her, to find out what made her the way she was - so bold and brazen yet unassuming. He wanted to know her favorite foods and have her cook them for him. He wanted -

Edward shook his head. He would not let himself be distracted by a servant. That was not his mission. Besides, he was only staying for ten more days. Ten more days and he would be back to Volterra to win the war, this detour through Forks reduced to nothing but a brief vacation from the real world.

Perhaps a change of scenery would do his mind some good - put him back into the work state. His intention was to leave the ballroom and take a walk around the garden, but he did not get far. Half way across the ballroom, he stumbled into another man carrying a plate full of food. They ran into each other head first, both sent sprawling backwards. It was a miracle that nothing else was a casualty of the collision.

Edward was annoyed, his body sore from where he had fallen. Picking himself off, he dusted off his jacket and fixed his cravat, not even thinking to check on the wellbeing of the other man. The careless oaf, who did he think he was traipsing around carelessly and cutting people off?

"My apologies," Edward said out of requirement and not because he meant it, leaning down to pick up the plate the man had dropped. "How clumsy of me. I was not paying attention..."

It was when Edward straightened back up to face the other man that he realized the gravity of his mistake. For the man who stood before him was the king in all his glory, and he did not look pleased. Edward swallowed thickly, rethinking his attitude and hoping he had not damaged any of the king's garments during the collision. Edward did not think he could afford to fix any stains in the furs lining the king's cape or replace the gems embedded in his belt.

"No, that is quite alright, dear fellow. The fault is mine," the king assured, brushing off stray crumbs from his intricate golden vest before taking back the plate from Edward and setting it down on the nearby table. "I do believe I have partook far too much from the wine."

"Is Your Majesty in need of any assistance?" Edward asked, assessing the man from head to toe for any kind of injury. Though he was clearly inebriated - his cheeks though normally darker in color flushed red and his dark gaze shifting - he looked to be in good health. His posture was straight, showing off his full height at nearly a head taller than Edward. He was built strong like an ox, his dark hair kept close to his head and concealed by a bejeweled, golden crown, and his teeth pearly white and smiling. He seemed like a benevolent man, though a simple one.

"Kind of you to ask, but no," the king denied, his gaze sweeping over to the dance floor. "I was trying to make my way to dance with my wife, but it seems as though she is otherwise engaged."

"The queen is quite splendid tonight," Edward agreed, looking over to where she stood amongst a flock of admirers. "She is easily the most beautiful woman at the ball."

"Yes, that she is," the king boasted proudly, his chest puffed out that he had picked such a perfect wife. "From the moment I saw her, I knew she was destined to be mine."

The way the king talked about the queen was more of how someone spoke of a coveted possession than a living, breathing human. As if the queen were some kind of prized mare instead of his wife. It did not seem very respectful, but Edward was in no place of power to share his opinion.

"If only we all could be so lucky in love, Majesty," Edward replied, stroking the man's ego. It was pertinent to remain on the king's good side, and if sucking up and playing sycophant was what it took, it was what Edward would do. Besides, in the two minutes he had interacted with the king, he seemed rather...simple. Easy to manipulate and pull strings. Perhaps this job would not be as challenging as Edward once assumed.

"Lucky indeed...though I fear that my luck is running out," the king confessed, looking to Edward as if sharing some kind of secret. "I am not one to stir trouble in my household, nor worry the people, but I fear for my love. She has been...out of sorts lately. Moody. Distant. I try to cheer her up by presenting her with gifts, but they do no good. All she does is get sadder and sadder. It is quite irksome to be entirely honest. Which is why I am glad to see her in such good spirits these past two nights. Perhaps a party was all she really needed. Perhaps I should throw more of them...do you think that would help?"

"That sounds like quite the predicament, Majesty."

"Have you any experience dealing with troublesome women?" the king asked, his expression rather desperate, as if he would take any advice as to assuage his wife. "Have you any advice on the matter?"

"I cannot say I have personal experience on the matter, but have you tried paying her more attention, Majesty?"

"Paying her more attention?" the king repeated, as if this were a preposterous notion. "But, I am the king! I barely have the time to pay all my subjects attention!"

 _Yes, most attentive_ , Edward sneered mentally. The king seemed like the kind of person that thought attention was something to be doled out in small fragments. Even now his gaze skittered elsewhere, as if there were a thousand other things he could have been doing even though he was the one who took the time to seek out answers from Edward. No wonder the queen was moody. She probably felt ignored and unloved.

"True, though the queen already knows that, which will make your time all that more precious, and she will appreciate your effort to make her a priority."

"I suppose there is some sense in your words," the king pondered, scratching at his chin though Edward knew he was highly unlikely to change his behavior as suggested. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Edward Masen."

"I think I like you Mister Masen. You shall dine at my table tonight, and all others henceforth. Come," the king instructed, and Edward gladly followed.

Satisfaction soared through his chest as he succeeded in doing something Jasper had not: wining over the king. He could not wait to see the look of shock on the smug bastard's face when he graced him with the news of the king's personal invitation.

The king's table was the long mahogany one that lined the back of the ballroom. There were about twenty seats in total, all on one side, and each extremely coveted. Judging by the opulence of the masks and gowns, Edward presumed that this was where the upper one percent of the nobility sat, and the closer they were to the center throne, the more important they were. The seat to the king's right - the queen's seat - was currently empty, but the seat next to that was occupied by an older man with dark hair and an austere mustache. Unlike the other party goers, he forfeit a mask, his wrinkled face on display for everyone to see. The king nodded respectfully to this man as he passed by, walking towards the opposite side of the table to show Edward to his seat.

"Normally Lord Clearwater sits here, but all he does is talk of the hunt. I've grown bored of him."

"I certainly hope not to bore Your Majesty," Edward replied respectfully, actually grateful for this opportunity. It would make his job so much easier now that he had his eyes and ears in the upper echelon.

"I hope so as well," the king said with a smile, leaning in as if to share a secret. "And please, if you sit at this table, you have earned the privilege to call me by my name: Jacob. We are all friends here, are we not?"

Edward's lips curled up into a smile. _Oh, if only he knew._

"Very well, friends," Edward agreed cordially, earning himself a slap on the back from the king who left him promptly afterwards to go and chat with a group of older lords and ladies.

The king seemed like quite the social butterfly. Edward was flattered that the man had granted him so much of his attention. However, he was also grateful for the prompt exit. Any longer faking pleasantries and smiles and Edward's face would have fallen off.

He surveyed his surroundings, taking in everything with rapt attention. The place settings were fine crystal and china, all gold gilded and gleaming. It appeared as though they were between courses, the soup bowl and greens plate already cleared away. The main course was still a few dishes away, not that Edward planned on staying that long. He was simply curious to see what Alice had cooked up. No doubt it would surpass any other meal he had had in his life...not that that was a hard feat. Most of his meals before the ball consisted of rabbits and rats he had managed to snare from the ample woods near the shack he called a home.

Back to his surroundings, the company the king kept was not unlike the rest. The man to his left was snoozing into his hand, an empty goblet of wine the most likely culprit for such an early sleep. Those further down the table were a rowdy bunch, a group of younger males hanging around and leering at some of the young ladies in the crowd. One of them had even set up a makeshift darts set with the serving knives, and started placing bets as to who could get closest to the target. Edward rolled his eyes at such a juvenile sport.

It was the woman to his right that made an impact. He had yet to find anyone outside of Alice to catch his eye, yet this woman did the trick. She was pale with rosy cheeks and golden hair done up in an elaborate array of curls, a few falling around her neck to rest at her collarbone. She wore a necklace made of large pearls that wrapped tightly around her throat, a matching pair of earrings dripping from her ears. Her perfume was spicy yet feminine, an intriguing combination that had him leaning in closer so that he could make out the detailed floral pattern of her gold and olive colored dress.

"Can I help you?" she asked, catching him staring and judging by her tone, she did not appreciate it. Her hazel eyes flickered with contempt behind a mask of delicate golden lace as she sized him up, surely thinking he was some sort of cad.

"Forgive me for staring, I did not mean to be forward," Edward apologized, doing his best to find the right set of words that would not further upset her. It was evident that she was a hard woman to please, and he did not want to make any enemies, especially when she seemed far more pleasant as a friend. "It is just hard to find someone who stands out in such an ostentatious crowd. Most people try too hard, but you make it seem effortless."

Her eyebrows arched skeptically, her guard lowering just a bit as the flattery worked its way through her system.

"While your words are sweet, my Lord, I do not believe we are acquainted," she said, stray blonde curls falling around her shoulders.

"I believe you are right," Edward agreed, sticking out his hand to take hers, placing a kiss to her gloved knuckles. "Edward Masen. And you are?"

"Tanya Denali," she replied as she took her hand back, pleased by his manners. Then she turned to the two young women sitting next to her, and though their backs were to them as they were engaged with others at the table, she still introduced them as well. "These are my sisters, Irina and Katherine."

"Denali..." Edward mused, the name terribly familiar. "That name bears a great deal of importance if I am not mistaken."

"Yes," Tanya shrugged, brushing her curls back. "My father was quite the business man. He built an empire out of coal and oil, and then left it to my sisters and I when he died."

"I am terribly sorry to hear of his passing," Edward sympathized politely. "I know a thing or two about loss."

"Do not be," Tanya insisted, placed a hand gently on top of his. "He passed nearly ten years ago. The loss has dulled significantly, though I do find myself missing him from time to time. Like now. He always enjoyed these sorts of things."

"Do you not enjoy balls?"

"I enjoy them, just not as much as I suppose a young woman should," Tanya said, glancing around the room with subtle contempt. "When I was younger, everything was so mesmerizing - the dancing, the drinking, the romance. Now that I am older, I realize that these halls are filled with nothing but young cads trying to swindle me out of my inheritance."

"Have no fear, Miss Denali. I am not in the habit of stealing fortunes, yours or anyone else's," Edward assured, smirking to himself. No, he was much more in the habit of stealing hearts.

"How many times have I heard that before?" Tanya mused to herself, her voice almost melodic in quality, mocking him.

"Do you accuse all the men you meet of trying to rob you?"

"It never hurts to be careful," Tanya said playfully, taking a sip from her goblet of wine. "An independent woman in this world is at a terrible disadvantage. Men might think they are entitled to things they are not."

"Is this man entitled to a dance, or is that asking too much?"

"For you, Mister Masen, I doubt anything would be too much," she replied with confidence, getting up to accept his hand.

Together, they sauntered off towards the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a rather energetic ditty. No one paid them much mind, not with the queen spinning circles around the room, but Edward much preferred to be invisible. It was Tanya who seemed rather irritated that no one was around to compliment her dancing skill. She was quite talented, Edward had to admit. She countered each of his steps with small, graceful ones of her own. She showed passion in her dancing, never once minding his hand near the base of her spine or the casual touches that would be considered inappropriate anywhere else other than on the dance floor.

When the song ended and Tanya lowered herself into a curtsey, Edward caught sight of Jasper looking rather annoyed at the opposite end of the floor. Edward could only guess at how long the poor bastard had been standing there, fending off the entirety of the male population of Forks for a chance to woo the queen. He had to stifle back a laugh, leaning down to ask forgiveness from Tanya before he abandoned her for his miserable counterpart.

"Excuse me for a moment, would you?"

Tanya nodded, turning to wander back to the table. Her sisters were waiting patiently for her, curiously gazing at Edward. No doubt they would have a million questions to ask, as most women did when they found a new source of gossip.

"I see you are seated next to the king," Jasper commented offhandedly as Edward approached, though there was nothing casual about his scathing tone.

"That I have, though I can hardly say my seat is _next_ to the king - "

"How the devil did you pull that off?"

"Your lack of faith in my ability wounds me," Edward mock pouted, placing a hand on Jasper's shoulder. "Do not worry about what I am doing; focus on winning over the queen. With my new position, you may be seeing much more of her, which is just your luck since she is currently unengaged."

True to Edward's word, when Jasper turned around, he found the queen blessedly alone, picking at the banquet table while a servant ran behind her, placing scant amounts of her choices on a plate so she did not have to ruin her gloves. The ridiculousness of it almost made Edward laugh.

"Go take her a drink; recommend she try the biscuits. You cannot go wrong," Edward encouraged, hoping this would be the push Jasper needed to get this mission moving.

"Perhaps I have been underestimating you," Jasper mused, looking at Edward in a new light.

"You don't say?" Edward quipped, finally glad to have some morsel of respect from his partner. Hopefully his patronizing would die down (he could not ask for the miracle of it disappearing completely) and make this mission somewhat tolerable.

"If you are wrong about this, I will have your head," Jasper warned, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a neighboring tray before walking off in the queen's direction.

Edward lingered for a little while, long enough to see Jasper introduce his presence and pass of the drink to the queen. By the way she smiled, red lips curling up to her cheeks widely, as if he had made her entire night by showing up, Edward could only assume that things were going swimmingly. Perhaps he had underestimated Jasper's ability as well, for by the time a minute was up, the pair were laughing like old friends. With his job done, Edward turned on his heel and headed back towards the king's table, hoping that Tanya was still around to entertain him.

The lady was at the table conversing animatedly with her sisters. About what, Edward did not care. More likely the latest fashions or news from overseas. Women did so like to concern themselves with international affairs in order to impress their counterparts. But there was only one thing on Edward's mind that mattered, and it had nothing to do with affairs of state or the latest trends.

There was nothing left for him at the ball. The king had disappeared with his close companions, all the other lords and ladies were thoroughly inebriated, and Jasper had the queen handled. Edward had forged enough ground for one night; why not take the rest off?

He sauntered up to the table, not even bothering to be polite as he stole Tanya's attention away from her sisters.

"Earlier when you told me that no request would be too much, did you mean it?" Edward asked, his voice low and husky near the shell of her ear. He felt her pulse pick up from where it jumped out of her wrist in his grip, and Edward knew her answer before she even spoke.

"Every word."

"Then I would very much like to take you home, if you do not mind."

"Not at all," Tanya replied coyly, getting up from her chair and brushing back her curls. "As I said before, I do not really enjoy balls."

"I have a feeling you will enjoy what comes after," he said with purposeful seduction, watching as her pupils grew darker and her eyes hungrier by the second.

"That, Mister Masen, is a promise I hope you keep."

With that, she kissed both her sisters on the cheek and sauntered out of the ballroom, leaving Edward behind to follow. He smiled wryly, ignoring the way Katherine and Irina looked up at him with questioning, burning eyes, and swaggered out behind her, not caring who saw or what they assumed.

He was _really_ going to enjoy what came after.


	5. Day Three

A/N: Hello loves! Here's your friendly reminder not to be an asshole in the reviews (specifically guest reviews). I welcome constructive criticism, but if you can't say something nicely, don't say anything at all. I'll be honest, it can get pretty disheartening writing any story that diverts even for a second from the Bella/Edward romance. I put a lot of time and effort into planning and writing my stories, and would like to not be attacked or sent hate mail for expressing my creative license. So just unfollow this story if you don't want to read anymore and leave your negativity to yourself. Off my soap box, I hope you enjoy this chapter. XOXOX!

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Day Three

The kitchen was slow that morning.

Now that Isabella knew what to expect from her guests food-wise, she did not have to worry about last minute menu changes. However, the selections for the upcoming night were a little more complex. Mostly because they involved chicken, and chicken did not tend to agree with Isabella. It either came out too dry or undercooked or underseasoned or some combination of the three. This time, however, she was determined to break that trend. The success and good standing of her kingdom depended on it.

Angela was also in the kitchen fending off the head cook. Isabella had been drawing a lot of attention being in the kitchen so many days in a row. People were starting to notice. She would have to take a reprieve tomorrow and the next day in order to fend off suspicion. After all, the queen could not be super woman - showing up to the masquerade and waking up bright eyed enough to spend all day in the kitchen, even with another kitchenmaid to vouch for her.

The same young woman came wandering through the archway, carrying a basket full of eggs underneath her arm and a weary expression on her face.

"How was she?" Isabella asked, rushing up to Angela to help with the load.

"Terrible, as usual, but nothing I could not handle," Angela waved off, placing the basket down on the counter, pulling out large duck eggs out gingerly as not to break them. "She is old, but not dumb you know. She will start to catch on if you are not careful."

"I know...the miserable cow," Isabella cursed, picking through the eggs in search of the best ones to boil and crush into salad. "How she does not fall over and die of her own sour mood, I do not know."

"Majesty!" Angela gasped, though she could not stop herself from laughing, burying her face into her black skirts.

"What? The biddy is at least a hundred with more wrinkles than my husband's hounds and a personality a hundred times as snappish."

Isabella was normally not one to gossip or spread malice, but she and the head cook did not see eye to eye on anything. The cook did not respect Isabella's wishes and position no matter how many times she had tried to be civil, so Isabella stopped being civil entirely. Isabella did as she pleased, and sometimes even did things to purposely make the old woman mad. She considered it karma from years worth of overcooked steak, chewy pasta, and burnt breads.

"That is the cruelest, yet most truthful thing I have heard all day."

Isabella smiled wickedly, glad to bring some humor into the kitchen. A few other kitchen girls walked in and out quickly, giving the two strange looks as they wiped laughing tears from their eyes.

When they finally calmed and collected themselves, Angela went over to check on the chicken cutlets. They were pink and marinating in some kind of salt and juice that Isabella had no part of. Her task was creating the sauce to go on top, which was stumping the hell out of her. Maybe Angela would have some good ideas if she was not too busy with her own tasks.

"Don't you look lovely this morning, far too lovely to sort eggs," Angela said, admiring Isabella's gown.

It was true, she had dressed up, if only because she was out of simple frocks. As the queen, there was hardly need for more than a few. Today, the simplest thing she could find in her closet was a corseted powder blue silk gown with three quarter sleeves and a square neckline. Though there was little embroidery or detail, her floral apron did add a certain sophistication and femininity. Not everything about her was dainty though, her face mostly unmade save for powder across her brow to keep from sweating, hair pulled up haphazardly with a white strip of cloth to keep it out of her eyes.

"Alice has yet to do wash," Isabella replied, knowing her maid had other things to do that were much more important at the moment. "I felt bad asking her because she is already taking over the ball for me."

"Are you sure that is the only reason?" Angela asked, her tone telling Isabella that there was more to the question than she was willing to voice aloud.

"What other reason would there be?"

Angela shrugged, walking over and placing the sullied basket in the pile of things to be washed. "A man? A particularly handsome, foreign young man with swoon-worthy green eyes and copper hair?"

"Oh for heaven's sake," Isabella huffed, irritated with the conversation and wishing it over already. "How many times do I have to tell you? It is a simple flirtation."

"Word is that the object of your _simple flirtation_ seems to have taken a liking to Miss Tanya Denali."

"What man is not taken with Tanya Denali?" Isabella challenged, rolling her eyes. Saying a man was in love with Tanya Denali - or any of the Denali sisters - was the equivalent of saying that water was wet. It was a fact of life that she was the most beautiful woman at any ball, and could snag the heart of any man.

"He was seen leaving the ball with her last night. It is rumored that he accompanied her back to her townhouse," Angela continued, her tone low and scandalized.

Isabella sighed, knowing that her friend had a tendency to be dramatic, and she could sniff out a larger point that the girl was dying to reveal.

"Angela, tell me what you are playing at. I can take this no longer."

"What I am playing at is that I only want you to be careful. This man seems to be quite the forward cad. Who knows what he may try to pull."

"I meant what I said when I told you this was a simple flirtation. Nothing more," Isabella enforced, grateful for, but not needing such intense protection from her friend. "Besides, he would not be the first man who failed at trying to bed me."

"What man is trying to bed you?" Edward asked as his way of announcing his presence, scaring the bejeezus out of the both of them. Angela actually squealed so loudly that Isabella flinched, which only seemed to brighten his mood. He flashed a devilish smile in Isabella's direction, her heart doing a flip in her chest at the sight of those dimples. "Do I have to fight him for your honor?"

"Honestly Sir, do you know no shame?" Angela chided, her face red as she snapped at him with her dish rag. He easily dodged the offending item.

"None more than you I suppose," Edward shrugged, acting particularly cheeky this morning as he sashayed right up to Isabella's side, looking between them both with mirth. "Is this really what young women of good moral graces discuss in this day and age?"

"You'd do best to mind your manners Sir," Angela sniffed, throwing her dish rag over her shoulder and carrying the tray of chicken breast to the oven just so that she could get away from him. Isabella had never seen the girl so offended; she acted as though she had been personally accosted. Perhaps propriety was more important to Angela than Isabella expected. Which could be a problem if Edward kept popping up out of nowhere to visit. Isabella did not mind the intrusion, but if Angela did, then it would be all too easy for her to tattle to Alice, and then this whole charade would be over in a snap.

Isabella subtly elbowed Edward in the ribs, getting his attention enough for him to get the message that he needed to make amends, and quickly.

"My apologies for the offense, good madam," Edward said with a heartfelt emphasis, though it did nothing to soothe Angela. Once she was irate, there was no fixing her. The problem had to be removed entirely.

"Angela, why don't you go see if any of the guests require special orders for lunch?" Isabella suggested. Walking around the upper floors would get Angela out of the kitchen for a while, give the girl time to clear her head so she didn't end up putting a cleaver through Edward's.

Angela frowned, hands on her hips as she replied, "Do you think that is a wise idea, _Alice_? I would hate to leave you alone."

"I will be _fine_ ," Isabella grit out, her patience wearing thin. Was it too much to ask for Angela to leave? Pulling blatant rank would be too suspicious, so Isabella was forced to narrow her eyes, a subtle glare that spoke all the words she could not.

 _Move, before I make you move._

Angela stiffened and nodded sharply, picking up a pad of paper to take notes on before spinning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen.

Isabella sighed wearily. She would need to have a heart to heart with her friend the next time they had a spare moment. While what Isabella was engaging in with Edward was not exactly appropriate, it was fun. And while Angela was only trying to be a good friend, she was overstepping. Isabella was still the queen. More than that, she was still a woman capable of making her own choices in life. She did not need a babysitter nor someone to act as her conscience.

"What was that all about?" Edward asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. "I hope you two were not quarreling over me."

"My my, don't you think highly of yourself?" Isabella teased, walking over to the spice cabinet, searching for her ingredients to start the sauce for the chicken. She wanted something spicy yet savory, but the exact recipe had yet to come to her.

"Only if it is true," Edward replied, which Isabella considered a fair turn.

"We were not quarreling _over_ you," she answered, pulling a yellow powder from the rack, the fragrance delightful and unexpected, just what she was looking for. "More along the lines of your intentions."

"My intentions?" Edward asked, needing clarification.

"Angela has it in her head that you are the promiscuous, unruly sort," Isabella explained, not even looking Edward's way as she scooped up salt and butter from their respective containers, measuring each ingredient carefully. The balance between spice and savor needed to be perfect, otherwise it would become too overwhelming. "She is the kind that values a man of high moral standing. I believe she questions your character, takes offense to your person, and fears what you want with mine."

"You cut straight to the chase, no pretense," Edward chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. It was evident that he did not come to the kitchen to be questioned on his morals, yet he did not run, which spoke something to his character as well.

"Is she right?"

"Yes, she is," Edward said bluntly, no longer hiding. "I will not lie to you Alice, I am not a good man. I would say my moral fiber is lacking, my conscience grey."

"That is a rather harsh judgment on yourself," Isabella replied, furrowing her brow.

"Not if it is true."

It was the second time he had said those words, but this time they sent a chill down her spine. At first, she thought that Edward might have been joking, but the serious, flat look in his green eyes told her otherwise. He sincerely believed he was a bad person, which Isabella could not bring herself to accept. A tryst or two did not sully a person's soul beyond redemption, and she hoped he did not think she thought of him that way. If anything, she respected Edward for being so open with her, a stranger.

"Word has reached my ear that you have taken a liking to Tanya Denali," Isabella changed conversation to something less intense, but still related to the subject at hand.

"And if I have?" Edward asked, rifling through recipes laid out on the table. "She is good company. Intelligent, witty, and incredibly beautiful."

Isabella clicked her tongue and shook her head. The gaze of some men...it astounded her. They could see little past a pair of decent tits.

"Be careful with that one. Tanya Denali has been known to fend off more formidable suitors," she advised, reaching into the drawer for a mixing spoon. There was one she was looking for in particular, one with a red handle that was perfectly sized to her hand.

"Do you not think me formidable?" Edward asked, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed as he extended the exact spoon she wanted. How he knew she needed it was beyond her. He must have been very observant, or very lucky. Their fingers brushed as she grabbed it from him, and Edward took the chance to lean in and whisper, "Or perhaps this is your way of saying you want me all to yourself?"

"Hardly," Isabella scoffed, pulling away and returning her attention to her bowl of ingredients. She could care less what this man did in his free time. He was fun to flirt with, to talk to when she got bored in the kitchen, but other than that, there were no strings attached and she hoped she had not led him on to think that there were. "What or who you choose to do in your spare time is none of my concern."

"Miss Alice, are you jealous?" Edward teased, the laugher in his tone unmistakable, and Isabella did not know if he was mocking her or simply laughing at this ridiculous series of events.

"Keep making assumptions like that, and you will lose your kitchen privileges," Isabella warned as she wagged her spoon at him, though she did not mean it and he knew it.

Edward raised his hands in surrender, smiling wolfishly. "All that aside, I did come here for more than just your treats."

"Oh, so you require my help?"

He nodded somberly, though unlike when he bared his soul, she could not tell if he was messing with her or not. "You see, my traveling companion has taken a liking to the queen."

"A liking?"

"A less than holy liking, if you know what I mean."

"I see," Isabella mused, trying not to laugh at the irony of the situation. Though, thinking that Alice had an admirer was fairly exciting. No one had expressed interest in her in all the years Isabella had kept her as her maid. Men saw her as intimidating and bossy, and for good reason, but maybe as the 'queen' she was allowed to show a softer, more carefree side. Maybe she had a shot with this companion. It was intriguing, and if this man liked Alice as Edward said he did, then it was worth a shot at seeing if love could blossom there. "And what is it that you think I can do?"

"I know that such a relationship would be forbidden in the strictest of senses, but I was wondering if you would set morals aside and impart any knowledge you may have about what the queen likes," Edward said, stepping closer into Isabella's space. "Whether it be material or otherwise."

"I shall choose to ignore your attempt at a subtle proposition," Isabella said cooly, purposely focusing on beating a few eggs for the sauce instead of giving Edward the satisfaction of seeing her blush. "It is not my place to judge whether or not the queen takes a lover, which is why I will tell you what you wish to know."

Quickly, Isabella thought of all Alice's favorites, rattling off the first things that came to mind.

"The Queen loves bluebells and daffodils, a strange combination but the colors make her smile. Pearls are her favorite stone. She despises tardiness, and likewise appreciates punctuality. She favors a man who counts his words, that way she can dominate the conversation while knowing that her partner, though he does not speak often, will speak with truth and validity."

Edward fixed her with an impressed look.

"Are you sure you do not share a more intimate relationship with the queen? You speak as though you know her well."

"If I did, I would not be in the kitchen scrubbing down pots and pans," Isabella joked, jerking her head back to the large sink full of dirty dishes that would have to be cleaned at some point. She was already dreading it. "I would be at her side in fine jewels and silks as one of her ladies in waiting."

"But I hear the queen has no such ladies."

"Precisely. The queen is close to no one, so if your companion is indeed smitten with her, then he better make quite the impression."

Edward shook his head slowly, taking in all everything he had learned. For a man from a neighboring kingdom with little insight on how Forks worked, he seemed to catch on to things quickly and did not judge the oddities that came with its royals. Instead, he just laughed silently to himself and smoothed out his jacket, leaning in to Isabella's personal space so that she could count the flecks of gold in those hypnotizing green eyes.

"How ever shall my companion and I thank you for such invaluable information?"

His tone was low and flirtatious, done on purpose no doubt. Isabella had half a mind to tell him that he could repay her anyway he wanted, but that was a dangerous phrase to throw around. She had just told Angela she was capable of fending for herself. She was not going to let her friend down now. So, instead of rising up to her tip toes and leaning in for what would be a very easy kiss, she chose the unexpected route.

"Here, taste this and give me your honest opinion," she said, shoving a spoonful of sauce in Edward's face before he had the chance to respond.

"It is...rather hot for my liking," Edward replied after he collected his bearings, his eyes watering around the edges. "Good lord, what is in that? I cannot feel my lips..."

"Too much spice..." Isabella grumbled, fumbling around for something sweet to counter the overwhelming spice. She dumped half a jar of sugary stuff into the mix and stirred it with a fury, angry at herself for ruining the recipe. It was not what she originally wanted, but the new concoction would have to do.

Once more she extended the spoon towards Edward, who was now hesitant to sacrifice his taste buds to her experimenting, but he eventually gave in.

"Yes, that is much better," Edward praised, the flushed color in his cheeks fading away. "It is actually enjoyable now. Not that I ever doubted your abilities."

"You should have seen your face a moment ago. There was doubt."

"Not doubt, surprise," Edward clarified, the smile creeping back. "A less trained eye would not know the difference, but I do."

"Or, you are a liar," Isabella surmised.

"I suppose you will have to figure out which on your own. I have to be going," Edward said apologetically, glancing at the watch on his wrist with contempt, as if he hated to go. "It was a pleasure, as always, Miss Alice."

"The pleasure was mine, good sir," Isabella played along, laughing lightly as he placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. "Oh wait! Your treats!"

"That sauce was not my treat?"

"Of course not! You were my tester for the sauce," Isabella explained, pulling a tray of tarts out of the cooling rack. They were nearly perfect, only requiring the finest layers of powdered sugar to be dusted across the top. She pulled out her sieve, the white substances dancing across the pastries like snowfall. Then, she placed each one carefully into a tin, using wax paper to separate them so that they would not stick together. Edward patiently waited through all of this, watching Isabella work with rapt attention.

She handed Edward the tin , self-satisfied. "They are berry flavored to keep with the season."

"You...you did not have to," Edward stammered, surprised that she had actually gone out of her way to give him something. By the way he was reacting, Isabella wondered if anyone had ever given him a gift in his entire life.

"I wanted to," Isabella assured, pushing the tin towards his chest so that his arms no longer remained outstretched.

"Thank you for your kindness, Alice," Edward said sincerely, his green eyes sparkling with appreciation. They took Isabella's breath away. So much so that she forced herself to look away before she was too far gone in the moment and did something a married woman should not.

Isabella pivoted, reaching across the counter for the top to the tin. She sealed away the treats with a metallic clink, tapping the top lightly. "Now remember, those are just for you. No sharing with this companion or Miss Denali."

His smile turned more playful, the serious mood dissolving into the carefree one they were both more comfortable with. "I shall do my best to keep that in mind. Thank you again for the treats. I shall not forget it."

He tipped his head in a parting gesture, and left the kitchen.

Isabella found herself slumped against the counter, her heart racing a little faster, and her head spinning just as much. She had leaned more than she bargained for about her mystery visitor, and found herself wanting to know even more. She wanted to know all about Edward - what he liked and disliked, what he did in his spare time, what he wanted out of life. Everything. It was a want that she was unfamiliar with seeing as though she did not care to learn anything about the king and they were married and ruled a nation together. Her own husband had never once interested her as much as this stranger.

"Did you have fun?" Angela asked begrudgingly as she leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she stared on disapprovingly.

"Just how long have you been standing there?" Isabella asked, immediately straightening up and grabbing her bowl of sauce in a bid to look as though she were being productive instead of staring at the empty space Edward once occupied.

"Oh, no need to fret. I did not intrude on your time with your friend."

"You are in a foul mood Angela, and I must say I do not like it," Isabella frowned. She relied on Angela as an escape from the seriousness of her job. If she wanted to be lectured or talked down to, she would have just gone and talked to Alice.

"And you, Majesty, are playing with fire, and I do not like it," Angela fretted, snatching away the sauce bowl so that Isabella could hide her face in it no longer.

"Even if I chose to dance in the flames, I would not want to hear a word of it from you," Isabella snapped as she stole back the bowl, tired of hearing nothing but negativity. The kitchen was her happy place, and she would not have Angela tarnish it with her worrywart personality and stifling morals. "It is not what I pay you for."

Isabella regretted throwing in that detail as soon as it left her mouth. Never for one moment had Isabella ever considered Angela part of the hired help - a faceless nameless spoke in a larger wheel that kept turning through dozens of girls just like her. Someone easily replaceable and not memorable. Isabella considered the girl her friend, one of her best friends at that, but that did not mean that the class difference did not exist. Before now, it had never been an issue. Before now, covered in flour and baking the mornings away, it was easy to pretend they were the same. But the words could not be taken back, released from Isabella's traitorous lips and forever ringing through the air.

By the look on Angela's face, Isabella would have thought she had slapped her, doused her in cold water, or killed her pet. It was a look of absolute shock. A look of betrayal. And though it was deserved as Angela had been crossing a line, Isabella still felt riddled with guilt. She wished she could turn back the clock and do things differently, but it was too late, and she could not apologize. A queen never apologized, especially when she was right.

"Right then," Angela mumbled, reaching into her pockets to fish out the orders she had taken. Isabella was mildly surprised Angela had actually completed the task, thinking the girl was just going to mope outside the door and eavesdrop the whole time. There were only a few considering the number of guests occupying the visitor's wing, but it would be enough to keep the pair busy until the ball. "These are the orders for the day, but I will handle them. No need to distract you from your hobby. After all, it is what you pay me for, Majesty."

She nodded curtly in Isabella's direction, averting her gaze as she tied an apron around her waist and set up shop at the counter the furthest from her queen. They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

The sauce came out perfect, but Isabella hardly noticed. All she could think about was how she let something as trivial as a man ruin her happy place.


	6. Night Three

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Things will get more mixed up from the ball-kitchen dynamic soon, I promise. XOXOX!

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Night Three

"This is ridiculous!" Jasper hissed, ready to rip Edward's throat out as he guided them through the maze of courtiers and noblemen waiting to get a glimpse at their beloved monarch. There was more people at the ball than usual that night, something to be expected. Guests often came and went for as many or as little parts of the masquerade that they wished. It just so happened that this night in particular was a good night to make Edward and Jasper's job that much harder.

"No, this is necessary."

It was hard enough to convince Jasper to carry the bouquet in the first place. Making him carry it in a public space filled with rich, elitist snobs where the chance at rejection was high was a whole other level of difficult.

"And how, exactly, did you come across discovering queen's favorite flowers?"

"I have a source, one of the serving girls in the kitchen," Edward explained, almost to the core of the queen's entourage.

"I hope for your sake that her information is correct," Jasper grumbled.

Edward stiffened, not liking Jasper's tone. His partner could unleash whatever hell he wanted upon Edward, but if Jasper even dared to touch a hair on Alice's head, there would be hell to pay. It was surprising the amount of protectiveness and possessiveness Edward found himself having over this kitchen girl. Maybe it was because she was an innocent and did not deserve to be caught in his crosshairs. Maybe it was because she was one of the few people who had ever shown him genuine kindness.

At first, he thought their relationship would be limited to passive flirting, but then she made him tarts and his whole outlook on her changed. No one had ever been so thoughtful, especially not someone he had only just met the day prior. And then there was something about her smile, something warm and compassionate that felt genuine. Growing up in a world of spies, genuine kindness was as rare as an armistice. It was disarming, but also so very welcome.

Finally, only a few sycophants remained between the two men and their target. The queen was easy to spot wearing another red gown, making Edward question if she owned any other color in her wardrobe. This one, however, was patterned with black and white stripes down the skirt, giving it some variety. She flitted around from person to person, never staying long or saying more than a few words. That was both a good and bad sign. Good in that they would not have to wait long for her to reach them, but bad in that they only had a split second to make their impression.

When she did saunter up to them, her petite frame wavering in their view as both dipped down into bows, Edward had to gently nudge Jasper forward into following through with the plan. Blessedly, he did extend the bouquet of daffodils and bluebells, even if it was without a word.

"Oh!" The queen gasped, her dark eyes going wide beneath the thin red velvet of her mask. Her voice was not what Edward expected - much more high pitched and breathy than he had originally thought when initially being told about the Queen of Forks. Most of what he had originally expected had turned out differently, and he often wondered if the woman he was briefed on and the one he encountered now was the same woman at all. "They are absolutely lovely. My favorite...how did you know?"

She was beaming up at Jasper as if he had just hung the moon and stars, and Edward had to suppress the self-satisfied smirk from creeping up his face.

"I had a feeling," Jasper replied modestly. "I saw them and immediately thought of you."

Edward could have gagged, but the age-old wooing seemed to work on the queen. She was taken with Jasper, everyone else fading away to the background.

His work done, Edward excused himself and left the two to it.

Over at the king's table, the same lords from the night before were seated in the same places, with a few exceptions here and there. The stern mustachioed man still sat nearest the king, a glass of mead in one hand as he conversed with a man with tanned skin and dark hair and eyes. The group of rowdy young men still sported with women and jostled each other around. And then there was the king who jumped up from his lofty perch as soon as Edward came near enough.

"Who is that man conversing with my wife?" the king demanded, his gaze focused on the back of Jasper's head as if assessing how nice it would look cut off and mounted on his wall.

Edward needed to tread carefully. Condemn Jasper and get him banned from seeing the queen, or worse, killed. Support him too much and Edward could end up out of the king's favor or right next to Jasper on the chopping block.

"My companion. His name is Jasper and he is quite harmless. I assure you, Your Majesty, there is nothing to fear."

 _Harmless, yes,_ Edward mused internally. _As harmless as a viper._

The king must have placed great value on Edward's opinion, as he visibly relaxed at the explanation. However, he still carried some contempt, scrutinizing the scene. Edward did not blame him. If someone was blatantly flirting with his wife, no matter her status in the public eye, he would want to fight off the fiend as well.

"Hmmm...flowers. She never mentioned liking flowers before," the king mused, furrowing his brow as he watched the queen and Jasper get on like old friends, laughing and enjoying each other's company far more than was appropriate for barely acquaintances. "Is this one of those 'spending more time' things you were talking about earlier?"

"It could be, Your Majesty," Edward dared to say, reveling in the king's reliance on him in this matter a little too much. "If you had spent more time with your queen, perhaps you would have noticed that she enjoyed the blooms and you could have beaten Jasper to the punch."

"Gah! I hate it when these things make sense!" the king pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought. "I know! I shall have her whole chambers filled with fresh roses for when she wakes in the morning! Yes, that shall do the trick."

"That sounds like a wonderful gesture, Your Majesty," Edward encouraged.

It was such an insecure move to one-up one man's gesture with a grander one, not for the sake of romance, but for competition. However, Edward could not help himself from chuckling under his breath. It was quite fun to undermine Jasper as well as help him at the same time. As much as Edward needed this mission to go well, and though he and Jasper were on the same team, it was satisfying to watch the smug bastard struggle at something.

Leaving the king to his plotting, Edward continued his way down the long wooden table. As he passed, he surveyed plates filled with shaved pheasant and duck alongside buttery rolls and a variety of greens. The half-eaten desserts put to waste for all of these unappreciative creatures, trifles and confections in an array of colors and flavors piled by the dozens. All of it looked divine, fingers itching for a plate of his own. Never before had he considered himself a gluttonous man, but whatever Alice cooked into her creations had him under her spell. It had be witchcraft, for the when his eyes found the buffet table, her face immediately came to mind. It was maddening, actually.

"Look who stumbled in," Tanya commented as she caught sight of Edward, her eyes slinking across his body while her sisters giggled at the blatant display of impropriety.

Edward gave a curt smile, nodding at the ladies, before taking his seat. Blessedly, Tanya was still gossiping with her sisters and did not make the initiative to bother him.

Looking once more in the direction of the queen, Edward pondered upon the success of such a small gesture, and how he could possibly show gratitude to the woman responsible. He also wondered what this strange feeling in his chest was, this feeling of longing for someone to look at him how the queen was looking upon Jasper in that moment - like he was the center of the universe, brightening her orbit by simply existing. Not just someone: Alice in particular.

"Tanya, what do women like?"

"Women?" Tanya repeated, one elegant eyebrow arched as she redirected her attention from her sisters to him. She probably thought that Edward was referring to her, but he did not have the care to correct her. "Women like a variety of things: dresses, jewels, perfumes, flowers, the attention of our male counterparts...the list goes on."

Edward harrumphed, his lips turning down into a frown. "Those all sound terribly cliché."

"Perhaps, but there is a reason a cliché is a cliché after all. They work," Tanya shrugged with a wave of her hand, gesturing toward the queen. "Just look at the queen. A bouquet of flowers and now that sour-faced young man is her new best friend."

Edward snorted. Best friend was not what Jasper was hoping for, but maybe it was a start. Then again, Tanya did have a point. Women were so easily won by material things. Most women that is. Edward had the feeling that Alice was not to be lumped into the masses. If he showed up with a nice pair of gloves, she would only shove them into flour and ruin them immediately. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

"Would you not rather be surprised by a gift than receive the same recycled thing over and over again?"

"If you are so worried about her approval, simply pick a gift that speaks to the woman to whom you wish to give it," Tanya replied, growing tired with Edward's constant questioning. However, she had also grown more and more suspicious about who this 'woman' was as the conversation progressed. "A personal gift is one that will be remembered through the ages."

"And if I have only just met this woman and we are not well enough acquainted for personal touches?"

If Tanya did not think this conversation was about her before, she surely did now.

"Something tells me that this woman, whoever she is, would love whatever you gave her," Tanya said, her voice taking on a low quality as she inched closer. If she pushed her cleavage up any more, her breasts were going to fall out of her corset, and as lovely as they were, Edward was not inclined to make a scene. "Some women would be easy to please. A smile, a dance, a kiss..."

 _A dance..._

The words echoed through Edward's mind, setting off alarms followed by an idea so brilliant yet so obvious that he jolted in his seat. He knew what he was going to get Alice, the item clear in his mind. Perhaps Tanya was not completely useless after all.

"Edward?" Tanya asked, waving her hand in front of his face to gauge his reaction. "Are you listening?"

"Of course," Edward lied, blinking back into the present. Tanya did not look convinced, remaining miffed even as he put on his most winning smile. "You have been most helpful, Miss Denali. Thank you."

"You are leaving?" she asked, surprised and upset at his sudden uprooting.

"I wish I could stay, but alas, there is much to be done and so little time in which to do it," he said vaguely, tipping his head politely yet curtly in her direction.

"Will you leave me with not even a hint?" she pleaded, eyes wide and sparkling in attempts to guile him into revealing the gift.

Edward smiled, trying to keep it kind and not patronizing. Oh, her vanity would be her downfall. No wonder no man could please her; the upkeep of her personal satisfaction was far too demanding, and Edward had only been around her a single night.

When Edward's lips remained closed for too long, Tanya pouted and asked once more, "Fine. Then will you leave me with not even a kiss farewell?"

Sighing, Edward leaned down to pick up her gloved hand, placing a brief kiss to her knuckles. The gesture seemed to soothe the edges of her irate spell, a smile returning to her rouged lips.

"Will I see you tomorrow night?" she asked, flipping her golden curls over her shoulder to reveal the bare skin of her clavicle.

"That depends."

"On?"

His character a shameless flirt, he said, "On how late the night grows."

The exchange made Tanya flush a bright red, unaware that Edward had no intention of following through. She was an easy conquer, something unobtainable to all the rich stiffs in the room but something easily snatched by a master thief. Tanya held no more excitement, her worth near running out, and Edward was running out of energy to keep up his facade.

"Goodnight, Miss Denali."

As soon as Edward turned his back and Tanya had moved over to gossip to her sisters, his smile fell, replaced with an expression of determination.

Jasper would be fine on his own this night. It was far too soon to do any heart cutting; Edward would hardly be missed, giving him plenty of time to put together the perfect token of appreciation for his favorite kitchen girl.


	7. Day Four

Day Four 

Banned from the kitchen, for a whole week! Was there no crueler form of punishment?

Isabella kicked at the grass, dirtying her boots out of spite even though it was Alice who would have to clean them later and it was not Alice whom she was mad at. No, she was mad at Angela. Their spat had led the kitchen girl to get her removed, Isabella could feel it in her bones. The head cook was probably all too eager for an excuse to slam the door in Isabella's face. They were probably laughing at her now, saying things they would never dare say to her face.

Still, Isabella tried to remain positive, if only because today was going to be a good day. Perhaps not a good day for her, but a good day for Alice who was currently abuzz with excitement as they walked in stride.

"Oh, are you sure this is a good idea?" Alice fretted for the millionth time this hour.

"Yes, yes, it is a fine idea," Isabella stressed, swatting at Alice's hands so she did not worry any loose threads in her elbow-length gloves. "Now do stop that fidgeting! A lady never fidgets, and you are supposed to be the queen."

"But I am not the queen! And what if someone spots us!" Alice cried, distressed.

"No one will be in these parts of the garden all afternoon. I have made sure of it," Isabella assured, thinking back to all the croquet games she had to cancel and teas she had to rearrange just to get the rose garden reserved for Alice and her suitor friend.

 _Alice and a suitor, what a lovely thought,_ Isabella mused happily. It was far past time that Alice pursued any kind of happiness. While Alice was content to serve, Isabella always worried about her maid becoming withdrawn from society and estranged from the idea of love. While this mystery admirer Edward spoke of, the one who brought her bluebells and daffodils, may have thought Alice was the queen, it was still the first bud of romance to grace the maid's life in many long years. Isabella was more than willing to transition the charade of their identity swap into the daytime hours to give Alice this chance at romance.

"I do hope he likes me," Alice said softly, more to herself as she patted her dark hair, making sure none of the curls has fallen out of place.

Isabella had rummaged through her wardrobe in search of one of her simpler, yet more refined gowns: an empire-waist satin shift in a lovely robin's egg blue and modest lace detail that ran along the edge of the bosom. Paired with a set of white gloves, a feather fan, and an elaborate bun pinned with pearls, Alice was the epitome of grace and beauty.

"Any man would be a fool not to find you in Aphrodite's likeness," Isabella complimented, making Alice blush a pretty pink. "Now, stop your worrying. Everything will go smoothly so long as you relax and stick to the plan."

"But if I cannot be myself, then is this a worthwhile effort at all?"

"Without a mask, things may be much more terrifying, and much more intimate, but you gain nothing if you do not take the risk." Isabella sympathized, holding Alice by the shoulders as she instilled her with the courage to go on. "You can still be Alice. You can like what you like, eat what you eat, and share stories of any kind. So long as, at the end of it, you still portray the illusion of the Queen of Forks."

"Thinly veiled lies are so easily seen through," Alice tutted, dark eyes skittering across the grassy field. "I only hope that this man is not one to go looking."

"Luckily, this man is a foreigner with no clue as to what the real queen even _looks_ like, none the less what she _is_ like," Isabella said chipperly, feeling confident in the success of this outing. "Sometimes my reclusive nature can be convenient."

Alice did not look convinced, but she continued walking the path up to the wrought iron gate to the rose garden. From the outside, Isabella could see the trellises of red roses lining the hedges, creating a wall of red around a stark white gazebo. There was a shadowy figure standing in the center, patiently waiting. Isabella could only assume it was Alice's suitor.

"He is there."

"Already?" Alice gasped, her breathing becoming faster with nerves. "I thought I was to be early!"

"Calm down, Alice, he probably had the same thought," Isabella said with a patient smile, pulling her into a small hug. "You will have a wonderful time. This man already admires you. Let him see you shine."

Alice nodded deftly, the panic still evident as she turned to push the gate. It opened with a creak, and then Isabella was left alone. She did not dare follow, not willing to risk being seen with Alice in this state. Besides, three was a crowd for what was supposed to be an intimate setting. Isabella only hoped Alice let her nerves go long enough to enjoy herself and get lost in the game of love.

Isabella retraced her steps through the garden green, careful to dodge any passerbys who may have recognized her. Not that there were very many, but one could never be too careful. It would not do to have people spreading rumors that the Queen of Forks roamed around the gardens in a drab smock and peasant's boots.

Of course, the universe must have conspired against her, because as she turned the corner, she nearly ran into a very familiar face.

"Ah, Miss Alice, what a pleasant surprise," Edward said with a large grin, looking far too pleased than a proper gentleman should. He dipped down into a bow as he greeted her, far too formally for someone of her pretend station. "I was just on my way to the kitchen to see you."

She could not help the warmth that bubbled in her stomach at the sweetness of the gesture.

"Then I suppose it is fortunate that fate drove us together here to save you the added effort."

"Very fortunate indeed," Edward agreed, extending his elbow to her. "Do you mind taking a turn around the garden with me?"

Isabella discreetly looked around the space, making sure that there was no one of importance around to spot her. How tragic it would be to have this charade cut short when it was just beginning to be fun. Only when she was sure the coast was clear did she give her consent.

"I would like that very much."

Isabella looped her arm through Edward's and let him guide her to the nearest wall of hedges. They strode slowly, as if to drag out what little time they had together in order to get the most from it. Though, what was to be gained in this interaction had yet to be determined, as there was only silence between them for the longest time. Not the bad kind of silence, but the comfortable kind. The kind where Isabella could leisurely look into the clear blue sky and watch the birds soar, depending on the comfortable, sturdy weight of her equally content companion, completely at peace.

"I must admit, it is strange to see you so out of your element," Edward confessed, though he lost none of the playful spark in his eye. "Is the kitchen too slow for your liking, or have you simply chosen to shirk responsibility in pursuit of other pleasures?"

"You speak in riddles, but I assure you it is nothing so scandalous," Isabella scoffed, rolling her eyes at the flirtation. "I am afraid I have been banned from the kitchen until further notice."

"Say it is not so," Edward gasped, taken aback, though Isabella knew the dramatics were just for effect. "Why, how will the kitchen staff function without you there to guide them?"

"They will find a way," Isabella shrugged, appreciating the support. "Though, I find I must apologize for the quality of the food at the ball from here on. I doubt it will be terrible, but I do not think it is prideful to say that I carried that kitchen to success."

"Not prideful at all, not when it is truthful."

Isabella cocked an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips. "Have you come all the way out here just to stoke my ego?"

"No," Edward shook his head, though he looked slightly guilty. "At least, that was not my intent. I actually have something to give you."

"Oh?"

Edward unwound their arms so that he could pull a small parcel out of his jacket. He deposited the brown paper covered gift into her awaiting hands. It was so light, Isabella felt like she was holding air.

"A present as thanks for the delicious desserts you made for me."

"You did not have to..."

Isabella pulled at the twine bow, letting the strings fall to the grass as the paper peeled back to reveal the most breathtaking accessory she had received.

"It is a mask," Edward stated the obvious, mistaking her astonishment for ignorance.

"I can see that..." Isabella murmured, captivated by the way the black and ruby red facets sparkled and shone in the light. Though, she supposed it would have been easy to mistake the mask for something else, the geometric crystal edges looking more akin to a mosaic than anything. It was pure artwork, a sculpture to be encased and admired. Isabella was almost afraid to touch it lest she shatter the gorgeous illusion. "It looks so fragile."

"Made of Volterran glass. There is nothing more precious, nor as exquisite," Edward said, looking at Isabella expectantly. "Go ahead, try it on."

"But it is made of glass," Isabella reminded him, thinking it absurd to wear something so uncomfortable and potentially dangerous, no matter how beautiful.

"And you will find that it is as light as a feather, and just as soft."

"That makes no sense," she laughed incredulously as Edward reached around to tie the silk ribbons around the back of her head, fastening the mask in place.

True to his word, the mask felt weightless, a faint tickle across the bridge of her nose and nothing more. Oh, how Isabella wished to have a mirror so she could admire her reflection. Surely, she had never looked so splendid, not even in her royal finery.

"Absolutely beautiful."

There was a breathless quality to Edward's tone that made Isabella's breath hitch in her throat and set her cheeks aflame. A simple compliment from his lips had never affected her as such before, but now, she felt her heart stutter in her chest. It was startling but not unwelcome, and she wondered what it meant - if she was flying too close to the sun.

Looking down at the grass, Isabella reached behind her to untie the mask, letting it slip off her face with ease. She placed it gingerly back in the wrapping, afraid to package it back up too tightly lest she crack the glass.

"Not that I do not appreciate such a lavish gift, but why a mask?"

"I suppose now that you are no longer working in the kitchen, slaving away over hors d'oeuvres and tarts, that you could spend a night at the ball...in my company..."

He looked so tentative, so hopeful, that Isabella found her heart crawling up into her throat. It was such a strange, unfamiliar sight on a face that was normally so confident and aloof. There was no trace of mockery, nor deceit, nor flirtation. Just a simple request from an honest man who genuinely seemed to care about her. Isabella's happy mood sunk as she realized that yes, she had gone too far. She had flown to close; now the sun had burnt her, and she would have to burn Edward in return.

Because there was no way she could possibly attend the masquerade. Not when there was too much at stake with her charade. And perhaps that was selfish, but Edward was a stranger she had known for a few days at most, while her freedom was years coming. Freedom was owed to her, and she was not going to throw away her chance at more for a night of dancing in the arms of the first man to look at her as if she were not a prize to be won.

"Edward," Isabella gasped, feeling her mouth go dry as she floundered for the right words. "I am flattered, but the ball is no place for someone like me."

"To hell with convention," Edward insisted, taking her free hand tightly in his own. "Please, at least tell me you will consider my proposal."

Damn it if those eyes were not compelling, so wide and green and hopeful. Far more open and honest than she would have ever expected from a man like him. It would be cruel, Isabella thought, to tear his heart in half after such a thoughtful gesture. The mask in her hand seemed to gain weight, like a stone dragging her down into a river of trouble. She was going to drown if she kept this up.

"I shall promise to consider, and nothing more," she finally replied, thinking it the best, most diplomatic answer.

Blessedly, Edward seemed content with that response. He smiled warmly, placing a kiss to her knuckles, all the charm and charisma returning in waves.

"Then I shall have to be content with the hope of knowing."


	8. Night Four

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. It's mostly just angst, and a bridge to the next one. I'd just like to remind everyone (to stave off any trolls who may have comments after reading) that the endgame is still Bella/Edward. Hope you like it anyway! XOXOX!

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Night Four 

Edward frowned into his glass of mulled wine, dissatisfied with more than just the saccharine taste.

A sea of intricate, false faces, and none of them were what he were looking for. There was nothing exceptional about these masks, nothing unique, nothing otherworldly. None made of glass.

"Where is she, your kitchen girl?"

Jasper came to Edward's side with the intention of irritating him - of that, Edward was convinced.

"She told me she would consider my invitation."

The answer was terse, and not even Edward himself could mark that as a convincing lie.

Truth be told, Edward was giving up hope that Alice would appear. It was nearly an hour until midnight, and she had yet to make an entrance. Edward had spent most of the night wondering if she was keeping him on his toes, bating him with her fashionably late arrival. Now that the night was closer to its end than conception, Edward had to swallow the bitter truth that Alice simply was not coming at all.

 _She had promised to consider, that is all,_ Edward reminded himself, trying to remain unaffected. But that was far harder when he had entangled his own investment in her presence.

"Consider? Why, I thought you told me you had her falling at your every word. That she was abashedly smitten with you. Do not tell me you have lost your charm," Jasper goaded, blatantly mocking Edward. Those were words Edward had said when he did not yet know just how intriguing and kind Alice really was. Now, those words felt dirty. He was ashamed of himself, and it was hard to believe that was only four nights ago.

"A gentleman never forces a matter upon a lady, though I thought I had been more persuasive. Apparently I was wrong."

"Yes, well you are not exactly a gentleman, now are you?" Jasper reminded unkindly, his mouth upturned in a sneer of a smile. Edward braced himself for the lecture to come. " _Consideration_ will not suffice. We need more information Edward. The bit she divulged before turned out to be a success - In the garden, I had the queen eating out of the palm of my hand."

"Not literally, I hope," Edward grimaced, not needing any suggestive thoughts of Jasper to ever infiltrate his mind.

"You forget the point," Jasper said tersely, not in the mood for excuses. "This girl is a means to and end. If she cannot fulfill that end, then she needs to be cut off. We have no time to waste on pretty harlots and heiresses."

"I understand, believe me," Edward said sharply, shutting down any further conversation before he tackled Jasper into a chokehold and snuffed the air right out of his lungs. It was a tempting thought, one that took every fiber in his being not to indulge. "Now, go back to your queen. The sooner you win her heart, the sooner I can cut it out."

Jasper displayed another thin-lipped smile, this one more amused than anything. "You are starting to sound like me."

Edward's eyes flashed something dangerous, but Jasper had already turned to go before any other words could be exchanged. It was for the best that he left. Edward was at his wit's end. Between being abandoned by Alice and then scolded like a child by his partner, he was ready to drink himself into a hole. Embarrassment at such a juvenile response rushed through his veins like a poison.

He had never been left waiting before. He had done the leaving, and the wooing, but never had he been in the position of waiting. No one had ever stood him up before. It was an unwelcome and unpleasant feeling, the sense of dread that knotted in his stomach, that played games with his head and made him question everything he thought he knew.

 _He_ was supposed to be the expert spy. _He_ was supposed to be the master manipulator. Not some lowly kitchen girl.

Grumbling, Edward cut through the crowd, eager to put distance between himself and the happy couples spinning in circles on the dance floor. His seat the king's table remained available, the bitter lord who once occupied that position of honor only casting a nasty glance Edward's way as he threw himself down into it, now somewhat buzzed from the alcohol. He needed to get drunker in order to escape this very unwelcome, very painful hell. Edward waved over a serving boy, ordering him to fill his glass, only to steal the entire pitcher of wine for himself. The drink may have been disgustingly sweet, but it was worth rotting his teeth out if he could just stop feeling so damn miserable.

"You seem quite vexed," Tanya Denali noted, stepping into Edward's personal space, a hand placed just above his breastbone as she sat down in the empty space next to him. "Perhaps there is something I can do to ease the pain."

Her lips were too close to the shell of his ear, her mask scratching against his cheek, her perfume even more overwhelmingly sweet than the wine, and all Edward wanted to do was push her far away from him.

"I am not in the mood tonight," he grumbled, tilting his head so that her lips missed his own, glancing his jaw instead where her sticky rouge left streaks on his exposed skin.

Any other night, and he would have felt proud for conquering such an unconquerable woman. The woman who could never be pleased, the pissy heiress who looked down upon the rest of the world, was falling into his lap, begging for him. It was a victory for sure. But Edward's heart was cold and hurting from the rejection of another woman. Another woman who lacked all Tanya Denali had but yet possessed more than the heiress ever would.

"Are you sure? You seemed wound tight, like a spring ready to snap."

Fingers traced heated patterns down the lapels of his jackets, roving over the bunching of fabric where his white shirt was tucked into the band of his black trousers.

Edward hissed, yanking her hands away, no longer caring if he was visibly rude. "Yes, and your nagging will only vex me further."

Tanya frowned, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits through the glittering gold of her mask. "Relax, love, I am only trying to help."

"And what if I indulge you, _love_?" Edward spat the endearment back, his tone cruel and callous as he surged forward and cornered Tanya back against her chair like some kind of predator. "What if I hiked up your petticoat and fucked you hard right here, against this table? Would you still want me then? I remember you seemed to like it rough behind closed doors."

A sharp sting blossomed across his cheek in the next moment, his head swiveling to the side due to the force.

"I do not know what has possessed you this night, but I do not like it, and I will not stand for it," Tanya said shrilly, trying not to look as frazzled as she was. Her hands were trembling from the slap. Her chest was heaving out of her corset, bosom rising and falling rapidly with each breath. Moments ago she was a seductress, now she played the victim. What an astounding actress she could be. "You are not welcome by my side until you regain your propriety, and a sense of human decency!"

Propriety. Human decency. Two things Edward had abandoned long ago as a child when his two choices were kill or be killed.

Tanya pushed her hair back and scrambled up, trying to regain her composure before slipping back into the crowd, more than likely headed towards her sisters to gossip about this latest development. Edward sneered into his glass, taking a large gulp before cringing and washing it down. He could not help but think that it would have tasted better if Alice were allowed in the kitchen.

But was she not the reason Edward was drinking in the first place?

 _You are not exactly a gentleman, now are you?_ Jasper's words rung in his brain, making it hard to think. The monster that lived under his skin was clamoring to be let loose, anger barely contained.

He had to get out of this room full of too many bittersweet possibilities and broken promises.

The powder room seemed as good as any, a brief distance from the ballroom so that the music and laughter were muted through walls covered in thick wallpaper.

 _What the hell is wrong with you?_ Edward scolded himself, splashing water across his cheeks in a desperate bid to calm himself. _Look at how weak you have become, because of some woman._


	9. Day Five

Day Five 

There was nothing Isabella hated more than social calls from her mother.

She would have rather had to scrub the outhouses or polish silverware or truly embrace her role as queen if it meant never having to suffer through tea with her mother again.

Of course, the woman could not be to blame. As Isabella was want to tell herself, it was not her mother's fault she was born of such a _peculiar_ disposition.

Lady Renée, divorcée of Lord Charles Swan, the Marquis of Greater Washington, now lived with her new husband - an untitled man who made her feel privileged and powerful though Isabella was sure he was mooching off of the royal pension - in a stylish townhouse in the prestigious neighborhood of Phoenix Park, and found no greater joy in life than inserting her nose into her only daughter's business at every conceivable moment. It was a miracle she had yet to turn up sooner, not that Isabella was wanting her to. No, Isabella cherished as much time away from her mother as possible, as she had not quite forgiven the irksome woman for putting her into this unhappy situation.

After ten minutes of endless chatter and bland finger sandwiches, Isabella had felt her spirit wither and drain as the woman droned on and on about the latest styles from across the world and pointless gossip about socialites Isabella did not know nor care to know. She looked out the window, filling her mind with daydreams of what could have been, about dancing and music and hands on her waist that were much too assertive and warm to be her husband's. No masks, no lies, just she and the man with impossibly green eyes.

Thirty minutes later, Isabella was ready to fall asleep, head heavy in her gloved hand.

That was, until her mother brought up the one topic that was sure to send Isabella into a heated argument.

Heirs.

"Honestly darling, I do not know what is taking you so long," her mother sighed, crossing one ankle demurely under the other as she reclined in her red velvet chair, making sure to smooth down the expensive silk of her chartreuse skirt, as if waiting for Isabella to compliment it. "You have been married to the king for nearly five years now. People are beginning to talk."

"So let them talk," Isabella scoffed, taking a sip of her scalding tea, hoping it would bite her own tongue for her. "I shall do things in my own time, without the permission or approval of anyone."

"Such a tone is not proper for a lady, especially towards one's own mother," Lady Renée chided, tutting as she stirred her tea listlessly. She smoothed down her skirt again, and Isabella rolled her eyes at her childlike need for approval. "I only worry is all. Your position as queen is only truly secure once you produce a male heir. And, there has been talk, in certain circles, of a few lesser noblewomen who have their eyes on being the king's mistress."

"The king has no mistress."

"Yet," her mother warned pointedly, as if this news were to scare Isabella. In fact, it did quite the opposite. If there were other women around to attract the king's eye, then perhaps he would stop following her around like a lost dog, begging at her heels for scraps.

"Then I say let them in. Whomever my husband chooses to bed is none of my concern," Isabella shrugged, completely unaffected.

"Spoiled, miserable girl," Lady Renée cursed, frowning at Isabella as if she had personally offended her. "Do you know how hard your father and I worked to put you here? And now you spit in our faces, ungrateful of the gift we have given you?"

"A _gift_? You call this life a _gift_?" Isabella asked, astonished. "I never wanted this! I never asked for the throne, or this crown, or these things! This was not my wanting, but your own desperate bid for power!"

"Any other girl would have died to be queen, and you would throw it all away," Lady Renée wallowed, tears brimming in those wide, manipulative eyes. Isabella hated them, hated them more than she hated anything else in this moment. She had the strongest urge to throw her teacup across the room just to hear the satisfying shatter and release her rage at her mother's lack of compassion, but controlled herself. She was a queen, and queens did not throw tantrums.

"I am tired, mother, I must rest now," Isabella dismissed herself, rising from her chair, purple taffeta layers falling into place as she stood. She had no more want to continue this conversation, now nor ever.

"Oh come now, I cannot leave with you cross at me," Lady Renée tutted, pulling her only daughter into a hug. Isabella barely reciprocated, knowing that this appeasing act was her mother's way of soothing her 'wayward child'. It was always Isabella's fault for being too stubborn, too hot-headed, too irrational. Never her mother's fault. _Never, never, never._

"Thank you for the visit," Isabella said politely once they parted, noticing how her mother's smile became much more relaxed and pleased once Isabella had adopted her falsely sweet veneer.

Only when her mother had exited the parlor, ridiculous gown disappearing behind the door, did Isabella let out a withering sigh. She collapsed against the chair, throwing her head into her hands as she tried not to cry.

Not even an hour, and her mother had worn her nerves down to fraying threads. It must have been a new record. Isabella was not looking forward to the next meeting, knowing that the conversation was far from over, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.

The truth was, not even she, with all her power and will to disappear, could escape the whispers about the lack of an heir. Women, as much as they adored her, scrutinized her figure for the tell-tale bump, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads when her stomach remained as flat as it had ever been. Their stares were pitying, judgmental, as if they were looking at a woman whose time had almost run out. And as much as she disliked living in the palace, being the wife of a man who treated her like an object, she did not like the uncertainty that came with an unstable position.

Would Jacob truly kick her out if she did not produce a child? That would not be the end of the world, as it opened up all of her options. She could start cooking for a living, conduct a simpler life away from the scrutiny of everyone. She could make true friends and marry for love.

But who would want the broken, discarded former wife of the king?

Her thoughts were leading her to unhappy places, so Isabella decided a change in scenery was necessary. Gathering her skirts, she exited the parlor and made her way to the gardens. It was another clear, sunny day outside, making for a beautiful walk. The wind was crisp and refreshing, blowing strands of her dark hair around her face. There was no one else in view, no one to come asking questions or demanding an audience.

That was, until she turned the corner to find none other than Alice, humming and skipping along the path to the rose garden.

The only reason Isabella recognized Alice at all was because of how she was dressed: a perfect replica of the Queen of Forks. Today's gown was clearly pilfered from Isabella's spring wardrobe: a darkened marigold in color with capped sleeves and decorated with a feminine, floral design. A bonnet perched atop her mess of corkscrew curls, fresh flowers strewn over the straw brim. It was cheerful and vibrant, just like the wearer. Alice could not have made a finer choice, and her gentleman friend must have been blown away.

"My, my, someone is growing bold," Isabella teased, secretly enjoying the new, bolder Alice. She seemed much happier and more content with life.

Alice spun around, eyes going wide as she recognized her mistress and the situation she had been caught in.

"Oh, My Lady!" Alice fretted, now in a state of panic, all queenly demure gone. "Forgive me, I did not think you would mind if I borrowed a few of your things, and I promise to clean them good as new, not even a spot, I swear it, and - "

"Breathe, Alice," Isabella insisted, taking her maid's hand in comfort. "I am not mad at you."

"Truly?"

"Truly," Isabella repeated, a smile lighting her face. "Now, tell me, is it your suitor who has you so dolled up?"

Alice flushed a pretty pink, turning from timid to bashful. "Jasper is such a kind man, and the way he looks at me, makes my heart soar. I do not think I shall get used to such a feeling in all my days."

"I am so glad to hear it," Isabella said truthfully, reveling in her friend's joy. Alice deserved it. "He is a lucky man indeed to be privy to your company."

"I could say the same of him. He speaks with such a certainty and cadence; each word is precise and packs such a punch, I feel as though he is tunneling his way straight to my heart."

Alice seemed dazed, staring at the clouds and the birds, spirits soaring just as high. It was an uplifting scene, so much more welcome than the dreariness of tea, almost enough to wash down the bitter memories altogether.

"I can only hope he is worthy of such a precious piece of you."

"I believe he is, My Lady," Alice admitted quietly, as if she were making a confession. "I have yet to feel this way about anyone before, and I have only known him two days. Am I mad?"

"Every woman in love has succumbed to madness, but madness of the best sort," Isabella assured, Alice smiling so wide she was sure her cheeks would split. "Now go, do not let me keep you from you love."

"Thank you for this, Your Majesty," Alice thanked in earnest, grasping Isabella's hands and placing kisses to her knuckles. "None of this would be possible without your kindness."

"Go! Or you will be late!" Isabella insisted, giggling as she watched Alice skip away.

Such jubilance, such happiness, was infectious. Isabella felt her mood improve just by watching the scene. New love was infectious, spreading to everything it touched. The grass seemed greener, the flowers fuller, and hearts unburdened. Isabella remembered when she was that naive, that free. It was a long time ago, and suddenly she felt far too young to feel so old.

Sighing, she turned to finish her wall, thinking that today could be redeemed after all.

Until she turned and found that she was facing Edward.

They had a habit of running into one another at the most inconvenient times. Isabella suddenly felt very self-conscious, and not for the reasons most women would. If she were like everyone else, she would have tossed her hair and fixed her corset to plump her bosom, but instead, she was worried that she looked too fine in her royal purple gown, too rich for her kitchen girl alter ego. She was ruining the illusion, the ruse. It scared her, heart beating out of her chest, praying that Edward could not notice the subtle heave of her cleavage as she tried to steady her breathing and pretend everything was normal.

In her frantic thinking, she had not noticed that Edward was staring, scanning her from head to toe, as if committing every inch of her to memory.

"Miss Alice...you look..."

He never finished his thought, but he did not have to. Isabella could fill in the gaps.

"Yes, well, contrary to belief, not all of the clothes I own are rags," Isabella tried to lighten the mood, yet her smile still ended up falling around the corners when Edward's grim expression refused to budge. Isabella knew it was because of her, and she hated the feelings of guilt stirring in her chest. "I believe I owe you a rather large apology."

"That is not necessary."

"Yes, it is," Isabella insisted softly, her heart aching as she realized the extent of her cruelty. "My words were misleading and now I have dashed your hopes. Though I must remind you that I only swore to think; I never promised to go to the ball."

His jaw twitched, as though he was trying to remain composed and unaffected. "And yet I waited."

The words were blows that hit harder than imagined. Isabella felt sick, and she knew, in that moment, that things were going too far too fast. She was too attached, too concerned with Edward Masen. Her happiness was intertwined with his. His presence brought her joy and comfort and she wished for nothing more than to touch him even though it was forbidden.

This was a dangerous game they were playing. A game that was quickly becoming a game no more.

"I do not think it wise for us to continue seeing one another. We cannot continue this," Isabella said abruptly, stepping away from the man and his magnetic pull.

Instead of anger, there was only an innocent sort of confusion, as if he were a schoolboy being denied the object of his first infatuation. "Have I done something wrong? At least tell me why you've decided to cut me out of your life. I thought we were building something."

"Please, save me your semantics," Isabella scoffed, trying to pull on a brave front. By heaven, was it even possible to feel such a wide range of emotions? To feel both loathing and wanting at the same time? "Do not pretend this was anything more than pretty words in exchange for information."

Edward blanched, his expression becoming unreadable. Was he surprised she had figured him out? Was he afraid? No, he did not seem the type, and his eyes were growing far too dark to be fear alone. Isabella felt the need to supplement her statement in order to assuage the conflict struggling to keep itself off his face.

"I am not as simple as I appear, Mister Mason. I know the only reason you kept seeing me was because your friend wanted information on how to win the queen's heart."

"That may have been my original intent, yes, but is it so difficult to believe that I wanted to see you as well? That I enjoy your company and wish to spend my time in more of it?"

"I apologize but I cannot give you more time," Isabella said shortly, furiously trying to smother the red flush creeping up her cheeks as she grew more and more distressed. Because Edward was looking at her with _those_ eyes - so wide and affected - and she could feel her foundation, her resolve, crumbling. "I think that if you stay any longer, then I will be helpless to stop myself from kissing you, and I do not wish to be made a dishonest woman."

Edward leaned in, sinfully close.

"Then kiss me."

"Edward...please..." Isabella nearly begged, never having done anything of the sort in her entire life save for the day she got on hands and knees and pleaded with her father not to marry her off to the king. A fruitless endeavor, though she hoped that this time her pleas would not go unanswered.

Edward pushed away as if offended, roaring, "Damn you woman! If you are to toy with me, at least have the decency to tell me why!"

"Because I am married!"

The words flew from her lips without thinking, and Edward staggered backwards from her as if he had been slapped. And perhaps he had, though not physically. The knowledge that the woman he was pursuing had to come as a low blow, one far crueler than a simple rejection of disinterest. At least then, he could have reason to know that she did not share his affection. Now, all he had was barrier between him and the one thing he seemed to want, knowing that thing shared his want for _more._

It was torture, and his expression showed it.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?"

He sounded wounded, and Isabella flinched.

"Because it was just flirting. We would banter, and it was lovely, but in the end I had my husband and you had Miss Denali. Harmless, simple flirting, that was all," Isabella explained weakly, fumbling with her words as she tried to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts inside her mind. "And then it was not."

For the longest, most painful moments, Edward stood completely still, no emotion crossing his face. He seemed blank, and that was worse than anger, Isabella decided. At least, anger would be deserved. The silence was cruel and empty and full of uncertainty. Isabella was unsure she could breathe, and she did not missing the irony of the situation. The great Queen of Forks, reduced to a skittering mess in front of a man with a few kinds word and half-smiles. How pathetic, she was. How pathetic.

"I apologize, Miss Alice, for being so forward," Edward finally said through tight lips, his tone unbelievably cold. Isabella felt the lump in her throat solidify to ice. "It was not my intention to compromise your integrity. I shall bother you no further."

He pushed forward, brushing her shoulder, but did not even spare her a passing glance.

This could not be how they left things. Isabella may have wanted things to stop progressing, stop moving towards the great unknown, but she did not want this. She did not want hatred nor silence nor resentment.

"Edward..."

Her voice was strangled, unsure of what she was even going to say, if he would listen. However, she never got the chance to even test the water, Edward ready to silence her.

"I believe, in order to maintain propriety, we should refer to each other by our proper titles."

"Of course," Isabella agreed, dipping into a curtsey to complete the act of the simple kitchen girl, as humiliating as it was. "Mister Masen."

By the time she lifted her head, he was gone, and the tears started to fall.


	10. Night Five

A/N: Just as fair warning, the next few chapters aren't going to focus on Isabella and Edward together, but more as individuals. They need time to sort themselves and figure out what they want. Romance is projected to start up again in Day Seven/Night Seven. Until then, enjoy plot. XOXOX!

* * *

Night Five

To add insult to injury, Edward's night started off just as poorly as his day. This time, the insult came in the form of an invitation - inconspicuous at first, but quickly taking on a much different tone once Edward realized who it was from.

 _The most noble Lord Emmett Hastings and his wife, the Lady Rosalie, invite_

 _Mister Edward Masen_

 _to the Hastings Estate for extended celebrations of the_ _Twelve Night's Masquerade_

The invitation was just that: an invitation.

Despite its ambiguity and the fact that it lacked an actual date, there was nothing sinister about it. There was no hidden code, no words to piece together from various letters scattered throughout the lines as they had practiced when they were children. Held above a flame and no invisible ink came to light. Honestly, it was quite disappointing.

Hastings.

The audacity of the name made Edward's blood boil. As if his brother had wiped Edward from existence, choosing to carry on under the mantle of his dead whore of a mother instead of their shared father who gave his life to save theirs. Not that Edward wanted to be using his own mother's name either, but Masen was a practical choice for disguise. The further he could distance himself from Volterra for this mission, the better. But his change of name was for just that: a mission. Not to run away like his traitor of a brother.

Such nerve Emmett had, tossing out this invitation, flaunting his newfound wealth in front of Edward's face as if to show how much better his life could have been if he had only followed in Emmett's footsteps. Edward had no intention of accepting such a wild invitation. He had heard from other partygoers that Emmett and his wife were famous in these parts for throwing their own version of the masquerade: just as long, the same hours and nights, only much more intimate. Spending a night away would only serve as a distraction, and now that Edward had had his fill of distractions, he had a one-track mind.

Whatever angle his brother was playing, Edward would find it, and he would crush it. Nothing was going to risk this mission, especially not his meddlesome brother.

"The party, dear fellow, is out there."

Edward startled, looking up to find no one but the king standing across the way, walking over to where Edward was seated. Quickly, he tucked the letter into the breast pocket of his jacket, not wanting his private business made public.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I do not find myself in the partying mood."

"Ah, well that makes two us then," the king said as he came to join Edward on the platform, gesturing to the spot next to him. "Do you mind?"

"Misery does love company."

"Too true," the king agreed, and Edward scooted over and made more space for him. His lavish robes took up more space than he did, the fabric swallowing him whole like a blanket. The funny thing was, under the layer of slight intoxication, he looked just as miserable as Edward was.

"Pray tell, what has put the King of Forks in such foul spirits?" Edward asked, not meaning to pry but unable to help himself.

"My wife."

"A woman, the root of all turmoil," Edward mused, feeling the threads of shared misery joining them together. He took a drink from his goblet, draining it entirely. If only the mulled wine was enough to make him forget, or at least knock him on his ass for a few hours of blissful, blank sleep.

"So you are familiar with such pain?" the king asked.

"Unfortunately."

Such a pain was all-consuming, burning through his mind like a forest fire. It tormented him, leaving him unable to think of anything else.

"Do not feel too badly. You are not the first to be slighted by Lady Denali, and I dare say you shall not be the last."

It was a light jab, one meant to raise spirits instead of continuing the wallowing. God only knew how much the king wanted to pretend that everything was perfect and that suffering did not exist, if only to make his own life easier. But the king could not be further off the mark. He could not even pick the correct woman.

"I have not thought fondly of the Lady Denali in quite some time," Edward replied with a light laugh, enjoying the way the king's confusion was written in every line of his face.

"So you are not referring to the assault she committed the other night?"

"No, not at all, though I must commend her for landing such a strong blow," Edward chuckled, rubbing his cheek at the memory, feeling the phantom sting of her slap. "No, the woman who haunts me now is quite a different creature altogether."

"You must continue now. I cannot be kept in suspense," the king insisted, intrigued as he leaned forward, eager for new gossip like one of the ladies of court. "Does this lady have a name?"

"No lady - a serving girl by the name of Alice."

"That is...quite a leap," the king commented, unable to find anything else complimentary to say, eyebrows shot up comically. Edward expected that kind of reaction, especially from someone raised in such an elitist mindset.

"She is different, so very different from the ladies at court," Edward said fondly, unable to feel the ache in chest that came with thinking of Alice. Her rejection was still fresh, and it made everything about her, including the memories, unbearable. "I appreciate her honesty, her stubbornness, and her peculiar nature. She challenges me, and she has no problems speaking her mind...except for when it counts."

"I take that to mean something has happened?"

"She told me she wished to end our correspondence. When I asked why, she told me that she was married. A convenient detail to forget, is it not?" Edward asked ruefully, shaking his head as her words rung through his brain, a cruel song stuck on repeat. "So, if she desires space, then space is what I shall give."

"Rotten luck, dear fellow, rotten luck," the king sympathized, one hand reaching to clap him on the shoulder with sympathy. "Though, perhaps it was for the best. There are many other fine women of the gentry with which a man of your stature can pair."

"Another Tanya Denali?" Edward asked with a mirthless grin, huffing out a laugh as the king missed the point of his misery entirely. Still, it would do him no good to rehash the topic and cause problems. The king was only listening out of pity and duty anyway. "Perhaps. And what of you? What has the queen done to sour your spirits?"

The king huffed and fell forward, resting his chin in his hands as he braced his elbows on his knees. In this pose, he looked like a petulant child, moping and whining.

"I feel as though I am married to two different people," he said miserably, the pout on his face doing nothing to help the infantile scene. "In the mornings we wake in different beds, eat our meals separately, go about our days in different manners. But at night, at the ball, it is like she has transformed into something jubilant and free. I only wish she would save some of that joy for the daytime, for me." He turned to Edward, eyes searching for validation. "Is that such a selfish want?"

"Not at all," Edward was quick to agree, finding himself not totally against what the king was saying. If anything, Edward pitied the man. "I would like to think, if I ever pursued marriage, that the woman by my side would appear happy to be there."

"You think my Isabella is unhappy?" Jacob asked, looking alarmed and also irritated, his lips pulling into a deep frown. "But...I have been putting forth an effort. I even gave her flowers as you suggested."

Edward wanted to roll his eyes. Did this grown man really think that a bunch of flowers was magically going to solve his marital problems? Perhaps the king was far more hopeless than he first thought.

"I do not pretend to know much about women - this conversation can attest to that - but perhaps she _is_ unhappy. There are some things in this world that material objects cannot fix."

The king looked away, mulling this information over. It seemed to hit him as a revelation, and perhaps it was. This man was richer than anyone else Edward had ever come across. He had never suffered, never known what it was like to stumble upon hard times and have to claw your way from the dirt to set them right again. A man like this probably only ever threw money at things and expected other people to clean the messes he made.

"You know, we were married young. Some said too young, but I was impatient and eager to prove myself. Isabella was only sixteen, myself just barely into my second decade, but I was convinced she was an angel sent down from the heavens just for me," the king mused, looking wistfully out into the room, as if peering into a memory. "I knew, because she was so young, that I would need to keep my distance, which was fine. Most days, I was just happy to know she was mine. But as the years have crept on, I wonder if I spent too much time away. If that distance created a rift that is now too wide to cross."

Edward shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. The king looked on the brink of tears, divulging far too much information to be considered proper. And yet, this was valuable information. Information that Edward was documenting in his mind for later use. Still, though the king was in a vulnerable state, Edward did not yet wish to push the limits of their tentative relationship. So, he remained quiet, not asking for more, but waiting for the king to set the pace of wherever this conversation was headed.

Finally, he broke his reverie and chuckled.

"What am I doing, looking to you as if you have all the answers?" the king laughed at himself, though his eyes were misted over.

"To be all-knowing would be quite the feat," Edward agreed, glad that the king was lightening the mood. Meaningless banter, Edward could pull off with ease.

"I will not lie. At first, I only wanted to befriend you to learn more about your counterpart, but you have turned out to be much more valuable," the king stated plainly, catching Edward off guard. He had to school his features into a mask, careful not to look too surprised. What the devil could that possibly mean? There was no way that someone as simple as the king could be aware of the plot against his wife. It was not possible. And yet...

"I am not naive, Mister Masen," the king said with a wry grin. "I see how Isabella looks at your friend, how she lavishes him with attention and affection as if he has hung the moon and stars. I envy him. Honestly, I wish to hang him. But Isabella is so happy, that I cannot bring myself to wipe away her smile."

Edward let out a breath, his nerves gathering themselves back into place.

"And now?"

"Now, I do believe I like you, genuinely, and would like to even consider you a friend."

Edward nodded, knowing that this was a monumental moment. He was not going to squander this opportunity to get even closer to the royals. Should Jasper fail, it was always good to have an alternative route to the queen. Besides, Edward could feel this man, as powerful as he was, starting to lean on Edward, using him as a crutch. To have power over such a powerful man was...addicting. The possibilities were endless.

"Your Majesty, I cannot speak to Jasper's intent, but do know that he is a noble man. He would not try to dishonor your wife, of that, I can assure you."

Every word of that phrase was a lie, but they rolled off of Edward's tongue with ease, inviting the fox into the henhouse.

"And I will hold you to that," Jacob replied, looking at Edward with serious intent. "Of all the beautiful things in this palace, she is the most beautiful. She is the heart of this place. Without her, I fear that I may lose my way."

 _The heart._ The heart that he needed to win his war. Unfortunately, this king was going to have to do without, because there was a king a kingdom away with thousands of dying subjects who needed that heart more.

"A few close friends and I are holding tea in the garden tomorrow. Join us."

It was not a request, but an order. Edward knew one when he heard one. Blessedly, now that he was free from Alice, he had plenty of time to dedicate to his new friend.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I am honored."

"Perfect," the king said as he stood to rise, brushing down the silks and furs of his grand costume. "Now, I believe it is back to the party for me. Shall I see you in there?"

"Not tonight, I am afraid. There is nothing for me in there that cannot wait until tomorrow."

"Then I bid you a goodnight, Mister Masen."

"Goodnight, Your Majesty."

He watched the king disappear around the corner, his carefree veneer remaining intact until the trim of the royal's crimson cape slipped out of view. Then, the illusion crumbled, and Edward was free to relax.

He pulled the now-rumpled parchment out from his breast pocket. He smoothed down the bent edges, studying the sharp lines and confident edges of his brother's penmanship. No matter how long he looked at it, the intent still remained a mystery. It drove him mad.

All these years, and some demons were still haunting him. Alice was just another to add to a long list.


	11. Day Six

Day Six

"There are simply no good men at court," Tanya Denali announced quite loudly, fanning herself with ostrich feathers. "I fear our beloved queen has claimed the only decent one."

Isabella only smiled politely, nodding her head at the comment. She did not like to gossip, nor did she want to draw attention to her severely lacking love life.

However, when one was a woman forced to socialize with other female members of the court, gossip about love lives was the meat of any conversation. It was the one thing women had in common: the love of good men. Or, apparently not so good men. Men, and sweet things. Isabella would most definitely choose to talk about sweet things, such as the tarts and pastries set up on carousels in the center of the circular table, flanked by tea sandwiches and cups of cream and sugar. Isabella could talk all day about the flours used, the right amount of yeast to add, how long to knead until the dough is soft and pliant. But, of course, no one knew about her particular hobby; it was not considered appropriate for the queen to perform such a lowly task.

So, Isabella kept her mouth shut and remained on the outside of the conversation just like her mother who watched her like a hawk from the adjacent seat. Isabella was so uncomfortable, she thought death would be a blessing. Perhaps Alice would be merciful and drown her in the dripping pitcher of ice water. She must have checked the sun to track its position in the sky at least a dozen times since the start of tea. Time was creeping by impossibly slowly, and she wondered what she did to end up in this hell.

"Whatever happened to that Masen fellow? Last I saw you two were quite the couple," Princess Rachel commented. Isabella had to admit, she too was wondering about Tanya's connection to Edward. She was under the impression that the two were an item, but after Tanya's outburst, Isabella was forced to reconsider.

"I ended that," Tanya replied cooly, bristling at the memory. "He acted out of hand, and I had to put him in his place."

"Yes, by giving him a hand...to the face!" Tanya's sister Irina tittered, hiding her smirk behind her own ostrich feather fan. Tanya reached over and smacked her sister with her fan, only mildly irked. The girls loved to gossip; Tanya was probably enjoying all the attention on her, negative or not.

Isabella could not help the jolt in her heart as she heard that Edward was no longer attached. Her treacherous mind started coming up with impossible scenarios, fantasies that could never come true. She needed to stop, get a handle on things before they grew too big to control.

"A cad like that deserves it," Leah said bitterly, taking a long sip of her tea.

"And why do you say that, Lady Clearwater?" Isabella asked, still confused. What exactly _was_ Edward up to at the ball? She knew his personality was large and flirtatious, but he seemed to have crossed at least half the members of this party.

"He saunters into court, from _Volterra_ no less, and usurps my father's place at the king's table. It's preposterous, not to mention an embarrassment for the family," Leah moped, clearly displeased. As the only daughter of the esteemed Lord of LaPush, her family's name was the only thing carrying her through society and towards a gratuitous marriage. To have it tarnished suited no one, and it was understandable why she was upset. "My father has yet to be called back to court because of that interloper."

"I like that word, _interloper_ ," Princess Rachel mouthed quite dramatically, her lips tugging up into a smile. "Well, cad or not, I hear he's quite pleasant to look at."

"That may be the only thing the man is useful for," Tanya replied snidely, and the whole table erupted into giggles.

"Fear not, Lady Clearwater. I shall have words with my brother and get him to restore order in the kingdom," Princess Rachel assured, all jokes aside.

"Thank you, Your Highness. You are too kind," Leah praised, to which the princess smiled graciously.

Isabella frowned into her tea. She did not like Rachel, for as much as the princess tried to appear sweet and generous, Isabella knew her to be caddy and self-motivated. Whatever promises made at this table would soon be forgotten. Of that, Isabella was certain.

"What does our dear sovereign think of this _interloper_ ," Princess Rachel asked, her voice full of faux innocence as she played with one of the stray dark curls that fell from her sunhat. It was no secret that the princess and the queen did not get along, but this was just petty. Isabella did not need to be tested like a child, and she did not appreciate such behavior from her sister-in-law.

"I cannot say I notice him," Isabella replied smoothly, without any kind of attachment which she was secretly proud of seeing as though she had been fantasizing about those green eyes only minutes before tea was poured.

"But you notice his friend," Princess Rachel continued, pressing far more than considered appropriate. Even Tanya was raising her eyebrows suspiciously, though she would never let propriety stop anyone from spreading gossip. "At least, that is what everyone at the masquerade says. You and the Volterran seem to have an unorthodoxly _close_ relationship."

Isabella felt her pulse begin to quicken, and her eyes darted discreetly towards Alice. The maid had her head down, busying herself straightening up pastry puffs that were far too chewy to be good.

"It is not often I entertain the company of such intriguing guests," Isabella replied once more with practiced vagueness. "Perhaps I simply find Forks to be boring, and its people mundane in comparison."

A moment of silence, and then Tanya was leading everyone in a round of hearty laughter. Her sisters dabbed at their eyes, while Leah nearly snorted her tea. It was a ridiculous reaction, one that Princess Rachel did not participate in, but one that Isabella was aiming for. No one could ever believe that the Queen of Forks, the woman who had it all, would actually be miserable.

"Quite the witty one you are, Your Majesty," Tanya complemented, the tension now forgotten. Just another thing Isabella hated about life at court. Nothing held weight; everything had to be vapid, shallow, and easily wiped away with a laugh. Heaven forbid anyone actually mean anything.

"There is only one man for my Isabella, and that is the king," Lady Renée said proudly, patting Isabella's gloved hand. She had to fight the urge to pull it away.

"Yes, my brother is still smitten with you, even after all these years," Princess Rachel agreed, though it did not sound as joyous as the word would imply. Everyone else at the table cooed, exchanging meaningless sentiments on how they wished to find something like what the royal couple had. If only they knew...

"Forgive me if this is forward, but you would think that, with such a long, loving marriage, there would be something to show for it by now," Leah said, gazing up curiously at Isabella who was trying not to choke on a bite of tart.

Of course this was bound to come up. It seemed as though Isabella was unable to escape the topic these days. She could hardly say that the idea of bearing any child with her husband was unbearable, that she did not wish for him to touch her on the cheek, nonetheless in her most private places.

"I have it on good word that things on that front are soon to change," Lady Renée lied boldly with a smile and another pat to Isabella's hand. This time, she did recoil, feeling betrayed and outraged.

"Oh?" Princess Rachel asked, now very interested in Isabella's life. "My brother has not told me of any developments."

"They are all very recent - "

"Alright enough!" Isabella snapped, knowing that she was using a tone considered unladylike in any situation. But she had had enough of being talked about as if she were not sitting right across from them. "Jacob and I will do things in our own time, in our own way. We put Forks first. Children has not been a thought that crossed our minds."

"You aren't getting any younger, my dear," Lady Renée said patronizingly, and the Denali sisters gasped and giggled, both thrilled that someone was able to get this information out of their sovereign and yet scandalize that someone would talk to her in that manner.

"Mother, do not make me revoke your visitation privileges," Isabella said with a false smile through clenched teeth. As dense as everyone else was, they once again thought she was joking.

"Ladies, let us give the queen a break," Leah suggested, to which Isabella could not be more grateful. "Out of all of us, she is the only one with a successful marriage. The rest of us should be focusing on how to find matches like hers, not tearing hers apart."

"Thank you, Lady Clearwater," Isabella sighed, smiling towards the quiet girl. Even if she was the one to kick the bee's nest, Isabella knew that she could not predict the great onslaught to come. Isabella raised her glass towards Leah. "I now know who I can truly call friend."

More laughter and smiles went around, conversation turning to the run of the mill topics such as cosmetics and court gossip. Isabella was grateful for the reprieve, taking the moment to catch her breath and relax. Working herself up over tiny things would do her no good. This would all be over soon enough, and she could return to her chambers and bask in the knowledge that she had the night to herself. What a lovely gift, a precious secret to harbor that made it all the sweeter.

The universe had other plans, ones that involved making Isabella's life so much more difficult.

"Oh! There is the king now!" Princess Rachel said loudly, standing from her seat to wave at her brother. "Jacob! Come and join us!"

Isabella felt ice stab at her heart, her stomach plunging deep into the abyss. Because standing next to her husband was Edward - the very same man who was just topic of conversation. The same man who she had filled her daydreams and dreams alike. The same man who she told to leave her alone for forever more. The same man she had been living a lie to for the past week and who, as soon as he turned the corner, was about to see who _Alice_ truly was.

Abruptly, Isabella stood from the table.

"Excuse me, but I suddenly feel very poorly and must retire."

"Isabella, do not be rude," her mother hissed, clearly disappointed.

"Perhaps it is morning sickness. That would please you, mother, would it not?" Isabella asked pointedly, not thinking on the impact of the words until it was too late. Her mother's eyes went comically wide, but Isabella did not dwell on that. She didn't dwell on the guests either, how confused they were at this sudden change in behavior. No, she was far too busy pulling her skirts above her ankles so she could make her speedy escape. She looked at Alice desperately. "Alice, assist me?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Alice nodded, fretting behind her mistress as they skittered out of the garden just in the nick of time.

They were breathing heavily, chests heaving as they rounded the corner, leaning up against the hedges once they were safely out of sight.

"That was too close," Isabella said raggedly, not quite rested.

Alice nodded her head, strands of dark hair plastered to her pale forehead by a sheen of sweat.

Curiosity drove Isabella to look back. She could hear voices, as they were just around the bend. Polite laughter and low tones were used, conversation much more formal now that the sexes were mixed. Still, she peeked her dark eyes around the corner and saw both Jacob and Edward standing at the head of the table, Jacob embracing his sister and Edward looking on with an easy smile. All the women looked at him as if they had not been talking poorly of him all tea, nothing but smiles and complements as they struck up idle chit chat. Edward could see through their façades, she could tell. It was one of the things Isabella admired about him. They were too far away to pick out any specific words, but the conversation was ended as soon as it started, and the two were walking away, most likely to meet other gentlemen in the gardens elsewhere.

Incredibly tired, Isabella sank back against the hedges and let out a shuddering breath. All that effort for a few seconds, but well worth it. She did not want to think of the repercussions of being caught in a lie by both her husband and her almost-lover in front of the court and worse, her _mother_.

* * *

When dusk fell, Isabella retired to her room to "prepare" for the masquerade.

Of course, what that really meant was she was going to sit on the edge of her bed and giggle while Alice dressed herself up in all Isabella's finery and she, herself, got to enjoy some very rare free time. Now that Isabella was banned from the kitchen and had no Edward to flirt with, her pursuits were limited. Most nights she had taken to reading or going on long, discreet walks in the garden. Now, she was running out of books on her nightstand, and she felt restless. How she ached to stick her hands in some dough, get flour in her hair and grease down her apron. Maybe tonight she would reconcile with Angela. Or maybe she would just sneak inside the kitchen when no one was looking and do her own thing anyway.

"Oh! I wonder what Jasper will think of me tonight!" Alice cooed as she fingered through the wardrobe, stopping every few garments to assess her options.

"He will think you the most stunning woman on the dance floor, as he has every night before," Isabella replied happily, smiling as she watched her maid fall further and further in love.

"You tease!" Alice chided, pulling out one dress that was a shimmering gold with a scoop neck and three quarter sleeves. "What do you think of this?"

"The fabric is too loud," Isabella rejected as she shook her head. Alice nodded, seemingly in agreement.

"Everything must be perfect, I must outdo myself from all the other times he has seen me," Alice insisted, going back to the wardrobe with determination.

Isabella simply laughed, though not meanly. "Why? You could show up in your dressing gown and still look just as lovely."

"Now you really are poking fun," Alice pouted, pulling out an A-line ballgown in black silk with ivory lace and sheer sleeves. "What about this one?"

"Much better," Isabella replied, assessing the choice. "The colors suit your skin tone, and I adore the pattern of this lace."

Alice smiled, laying the gown gently upon the bed, shooing Isabella to stand so that she would not accidentally crush it under her body. Isabella laughed once more and complied, sauntering over to her vanity where she picked up her brush. Brushing her hair was something she did idly, the motion soothing. Her hair was at that stage in the day where the immaculate curls from earlier had turned into soft waves. They were fun to tame, pulling them out one by one with each stroke of the brush.

"I think that an updo will suit you well with that dress. Let it do the talking," Isabella commented offhandedly, scanning over the jewels that were already haphazardly scattered upon the table. There were a pair of large pearl drops that would complement the look nicely, and she knew there was a necklace to match somewhere...

A knock on the door drew the young women from their scheming. Usually Isabella would call to ask who it was, but this time she was not given the chance. The doors swung open, revealing the one person she least expected to see.

"My Lord, what an unexpected surprise," Isabella said respectfully, shock evident in her tone, while Alice scrambled into a curtsey. Usually by this time, Jacob was already in the midst of celebration and his third goblet of wine. She hoped that her longing for him to leave did not bleed through her words too obviously. "I was simply brushing my hair, preparing for the ball."

"There will be no need for that tonight," Jacob replied, turning towards Alice to cease her smoothing of the black and ivory ballgown elegantly draped over the side of the bed. "You may leave us."

Alice blinked, alarmed at being commanded in such a way. Her mouth gaped, eyes darting towards Isabella for some kind of direction.

"It is alright Alice. Apparently I shall not be attending the ball tonight."

The look of sheer disappointment that fell over Alice's face was unmistakable. Isabella did not know what plans Alice had with her suitor, but Isabella resented Jacob just a tiny bit more for keeping the lovers apart. Still, Alice did as she was told and scooped the elaborate gown into her arms, depositing it back into the wardrobe on her way out.

"You cannot dismiss my staff like that," Isabella said as soon as the doors were shut, not liking having her power usurped by her husband.

"I apologize, but I wished to speak to you about a private matter, and I did not think that you would want the help to listen on such private affairs."

"Alright, what is it then?"

For the first time since their wedding night, Jacob looked... _nervous_. Normally he was full of bravado and cheer, so engrossed in his own perfect bubble that he did not care to ever distract himself with negatives. But now, he fidgeted with the cuffs of his elegant jacket, pulling at the diamonds studded at the wrists. His eyes looked askance, as if afraid to broach whatever he came there to say.

"Your mother had just informed me that you were not feeling well, and that this was due to the fact that you believed that you were... _with child_."

His words came out scratchy near the end, awkward. Isabella blanched, feeling her stomach crawl into her throat. Of all things, why must this constantly be forced upon her? First with her mother, then with peers, and now her husband.

"Why did you not tell me?" Jacob implored, looking far more like a lost puppy than the king he was supposed to be. Isabella gathered that he was moments from falling on his knees, a sort of desperation to him that she was not used to seeing. It made her uncomfortable, even if any inkling of a child in her womb was all a lie.

"These things are.. _.delicate_. I wanted to make certain of my situation before voicing any concerns," she replied diplomatically, trying not to make a big deal out of things.

"And...are you?" Jacob asked in a soft, hopeful way that made Isabella's heart lurch. It had been a handful of weeks since she had last laid with him; a child was not an absurdity, and she had not even been aware he had been wanting. Oh, she truly was a terrible woman to pull such a cruel ruse.

"No, no I am not," Isabella replied quietly, a somber silence filling the room. "I apologize for raising your spirits for nothing."

It would be a lie to say that Jacob appeared unaffected. In fact, he seemed quite melancholy.

"I was not even aware that you were trying."

"I was not," Isabella was quick to deny, red coloring her cheeks. "My choice of words earlier was tactless...a careless mistake."

"Still, child or no, it raises the same concern," Jacob stated as he cleared his throat, shoving all emotions aside. "We have been wed for nearly ten years, Isabella. _Ten years_ and no children. I have respected your distance because of your young age, but you are a grown woman now, and I am reaching my third decade of life. We cannot waste any more time. Forks is in need of an heir, and it is my greatest wish to pursue that endeavor with you."

If fainting were a proper response, Isabella would have done so. Vehemently. Out of all the outcomes of the night, discussing children with the king was one that Isabella had not even considered, if only because, had she not just lived it, she would have considered it a ridiculous impossibility. Jacob was a distant worry that she kept shoved in a corner of her mind lest he cause her any more inconvenience. And yet, there he was, eyes pleading and full of far more emotion than Isabella thought him capable.

"Say something, my darling, _please_."

Isabella fought not to cringe at the pet name. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she resigned herself to losing this battle. She had been fighting it for so long, but she could fight no longer. "I could not deny my king. If it is an heir my lord wants, then I am willing to comply."

"Isabella," Jacob said intently, taking a step forward. His hands reached to cup her cheeks, far softer than the common man's due to their lack of physical wear, nudging her gaze to meet his. "You must be certain."

She said nothing. If Isabella opened her mouth, she would not be able to stop the tirade of injustice that would surely spill out.

Instead, she surged up and kissed him.

Jacob let out a muffled sound of surprise, not used to having his wife in this way. However, the surprise quickly faded to contentment and pleasure, those too-soft hands reaching up to tangle into her freshly brushed curls. He pressed her body close to him, molding them together. Isabella felt smothered, over-heated and overwhelmed. Things were escalating quickly, and she was still only half-sure that _this_ was the right decision.

However, when Jacob backed them up, her knees hitting the edge of the bed, body falling backwards upon the plush pillows, Isabella knew she was in too deep. It was too late to turn back, to stop the process of undress, the trail of hands, the caress of kisses in private places. Isabella canted her head upward, looking away as her husband made love to her.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine rough hands, a sly smile, and a pair of startling green eyes.


	12. Night Six

Night Six

Edward's night started off with ten infuriating words:

"Excuse me, but I believe you are in my seat."

Edward turned from his survey of the crowd to be met with an obviously wealthy young woman standing across from him. Her chin was held in a haughty manner, her brown hair falling in ringlets around slender shoulders, the jewels dripping from her neck, ears, wrists, and fingers glittering in the chandelier light. Her mask was a light blue and etched in gold, accentuating the deep brown of her eyes and complementing the extravagance of her similar-colored gown. The attention-stealer, however, was the silver and gold coronet that rested atop her head, signifying her status as royal.

There was only one royal left that Edward had yet to meet, and she already seemed to be a handful.

"Princess Rachel, I presume?"

"You presume correctly," she said with a smirk, canting her head. "Now, my seat."

"You could have any seat at the table you desired, why mine?"

"Because I can."

A power play, plain and simple. From the corner of his eye, Edward could see Tanya fanning herself with her ostrich-feather fan, looking rather pleased, and he had no doubt that she was somehow involved with this display. Returning his focus to the princess, Edward really took her in, instantaneously hating everything she represented. She stood in stark contrast to everything Volterra was. While she was rolling in riches, shitting on those below her, his people squandered and suffered for their evening meals. If his people could only see her now...they would tear her limb from opulent limb.

Hatred would get him nowhere. Edward only smiled his false, calculating smile and bowed bowed his head. "What the lady wants, the lady gets."

The princess hummed appreciatively, stepping around so she could claim the spot as her own. Edward even went as far as to pull out the chair, putting on a show as the perfect gentleman. Her skirts billowed as she sat, the cerulean material engulfing her in a cloud of lace and silk. It was ridiculous, but the princess held her head high, as everything she did was purposeful and perfect.

Once their roles were reversed and he was the one standing on the other side of the table, the princess fixed him with her dark, curious eyes.

"The rumor around here is that you're quite the cad."

He quirked his lips, having no doubt where - or more accurately _who_ \- that rumor came from. "Is that so?"

"Indeed," she sighed dramatically. "Lady Clearwater and Lady Denali have made it their mission to smear your name as some kind of unscrupulous Casanova."

Edward fought the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "And what do you think?"

"Truth be told, I am not sure. I love Tanya dearly, but she has always been overdramatic, and while there is certainly something in you to lust after, I do not see you as the frivolous type. There's something in your eyes, a drive that I doubt would be a hospitable environment to foster something as trivial as fleeting desire."

For a moment, Edward had to reassess his previous assumptions about Princess Rachel. She had not known him more than a few minutes, and yet was already delving too far into his person. Perhaps she was more perceptive than he gave her credit. She was certainly more shrewd than her entitled first impression, eyes scouring the dance floor for someone in particular.

"Your friend, however...he intrigues me."

"Jasper?" Edward asked, surprised. He was not a vain man, but someone finding Jasper more attractive than Edward hurt the latter man's pride more than a little bit.

"Yes..." she said, eyes tearing themselves from studying her nails to pin Edward where he stood. "What are his intentions with my dear brother's wife?"

"What do you think his intentions are?" Edward turned the conversation back to her, intrigued by the way the princess' eyes darkened and her lips pursed into a frown.

"It is no secret that I do not particularly care for Isabella," Princess Rachel said flippantly, smoothing down her skirts as she stirred in her seat. "I always thought she was too lowly, too impersonal, too dispassionate. My brother always deserved someone who would cherish and support him as any king entitled, and instead he spends his days pining after that stick in the mud, showering her with gifts and riches and titles. And _this_ is how she repays his kindness? By violating her marriage vows and whoring around with the first man who shows her attention? It's disgusting, and if I can get my brother to see Isabella as the ungrateful hussy that she is, perhaps he can finally start to move on with his life."

This was...a lot to process. There was a whole arsenal of blackmail and information lurking under the seething exterior of the obnoxious princess. He had only just scratched this surface, and if he played his cards right, he could have Rachel opening up to him by the end of the night. However, her tirade had something nagging in the back of his head, drawing recognition on what was missing before his very eyes.

"Where even are the king and queen tonight?"

Edward was so accustomed to blocking out the king's abrasive, excessive jubilation that he hardly realized that it was missing entirely until Princess Rachel started ranting about the royals. Now, as he scanned the crowd, he noticed that their royal majesties were nowhere in sight. He scolded himself repeatedly for the oversight. When had he allowed himself to become so distracted?

More importantly, why had the royals yet to show their faces to their own ball?

"Rumor has it that they are in the process of making an heir."

It was Tanya Denali who delivered the news, swooping in with all the grace and elegance of a vulture. Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes, only the worry about what this meant for Jasper's seduction plan winning out as the dominant thought. Sure enough, he found the blond leaning up against a pillar on the mezzanine, scowling into his glass of something that Edward was certain was stronger than wine. This was not good, and Edward knew what his partner was thinking. Every night lost set them back exponentially, and the masquerade was nearly half was over.

"There's a lot of those going around tonight," Edward muttered darkly, trying not to sound too moody or disappointed. He couldn't help it. All he could focus on was the hell Jasper was going to give him once they made their way back to their apartment in the morning.

"Yes, but this one is true," Tanya Denali sighed, stirring her goblet of wine, watching the red slosh around as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "Queen Isabella all but shouted her intentions at tea this afternoon."

"She announced it right before she ran from the table as if the hedges were on fire. Probably the first bouts of morning sickness, but when the king is your lover, best to keep trying just in case," Irina Denali barged in with Catherine on her heels, already tipsy and far too forward. Tanya giggled and shushed her sisters, the three of them erupting into their own circle of gossip few feet away.

"I suppose that puts a damper on your plans to rid her from your life, my lady," Edward said to Princess Rachel, noticing the scowl that warped her stupidly lovely face.

"Perhaps," Princess Rachel shrugged, drinking more from her goblet than considered proper. "But I shall not believe this heir business until I hold the babe in my own arms. It has taken Isabella nearly a decade to even grant my brother access to her bed; I hold little hope for a fruitful marriage, rumor or not."

"So cynical, my lady," Edward chided, shaking his head.

"Not cynical. Just protective of what is mine."

Edward could sympathize with that. In fact, he respected it. He decided, in that moment, that he was entirely wrong about Princess Rachel, and that they could be great allies. Well, allies in the sense that he used her as a means to an end, but she did not have to know that. Besides, she was far better company than Tanya, and an infinite spring of useful information.

"Princess, I would not worry," Edward assured her, reaching out to pat Rachel's hand to which she surprisingly did not pull away. "I have a feeling that this will all be over very soon."


	13. Day Seven

A/N: Just in case anyone is still confused as to how Isabella and Alice are pulling off this switch: Alice and Isabella look very similar, especially in masks and Alice wearing heels, plus Alice doesn't speak to anyone much outside of Jasper, so no one really hears her voice to compare it to Isabella's (as if voices are easy to hear in a crowded, noisy ballroom anyway). Rachel definitely has suspicions about Isabella and the switch, which will cause some trouble later. As for what Jasper and Edward want to do to Isabella: they want to steal her heart. Ambiguous, but more to come on that soon. Hope that clears things up! Thanks for reading loves! XOXOX!

* * *

Day Seven

Isabella slipped from her husband's grasp as soon as was considered acceptable. The first rays of morning light had yet to even glance through the curtains, and yet she had left their shared bed in pursuit of space. The washroom was just on the other side of her chambers, the hot water and fragrant oils calling her name. It was bad enough that Jacob had decided to stay the night in her bed, but she refused to smell of him. Musk and sweat was not an alluring combination, despite what any woman said. They were all liars.

Slowly, she pushed the double doors shut and sealed them behind her, careful to be silent so that her intrusive husband would remain asleep. Padding though the room, she found Alice asleep in the tub, using a towel as a makeshift pillow. She must not have found a good time to sneak out, and resorted to making this place her bed for the night. Isabella almost felt bad to wake her, but her skin felt as if it were crawling, and she needed a bath before she scratched it all off.

"Alice..." Isabella cooed as she gently shook her maid. "Alice."

"Hmmm?" the girl stirred from her slumber, looking groggy but mildly alert. At the sight of Isabella she straightened up and scrambled out of the tub, just as surprised to be in it as Isabella was to find her in it. "My Lady, I apologize, I must have nodded off and - "

"You are fine," Isabella assured, depositing her robe on the rack beside the bath, stretching out her limbs until she heard them crack. "I just need to clean myself up."

"I shall draw the bath then."

"Thank you," Isabella mumbled, slipping into the empty tub, steaming water rushing over her kneecaps as it gushed from the faucet. Immediately, she felt her tense muscles start to release, her body going lax. Everything was so much less worrisome while submerged in water, surround by lavender and rose scented vapors. "I am sorry about last night."

"Think nothing of it," Alice replied gently, though the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes led Isabella to believe that Alice was probably hurt that she did not get to meet with her suitor.

"Are you cross with me?"

"Nothing of the sort, My Lady," Alice assured, stroking fingers through Isabella's hair as she wet it. It felt nice, and Isabella could not help but to lean up into the touch. "It would have been nice to go dancing, but I know that you could not have predicted that certain turn of events."

"Certainly not," Isabella agreed, sinking back down into the tub, trying to shake the memories from her head.

"Do you think you are with child?"

 _I hope not_ Isabella said mentally, glaring at her stomach. If she actually ended up with child after the first try, she might throw herself from the roof of the palace. However, it could also be a blessing, as her husband would not have to touch her ever again. She would have done her duty. One and done, no more worries.

"It is too soon to know for sure," Isabella replied instead, knowing it was the more acceptable answer.

Whether Alice was suspicious of her lack of joy, she did not say. She did not press further, and for that, Isabella was grateful. It was too early to process the consequences of the night before, or what it meant to Jacob. All of those messy complications only made her head pound, and she wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the water in which she bathed.

Unfortunately, she was not allowed that rest, for just as she was canting her neck back against the porcelain edge to close her eyes, the double doors swung open to reveal none other than her husband. He wore nothing but a red robe tied at the waist, fabric pulling open at his broad chest and swishing around his ankles as he sauntered into her sanctuary. Alice nearly fell over in shock, managing a curtsy before scampering into the background.

Isabella was livid; first he invade her bed, then her bath? This was out of hand.

"My Lord, it is highly inappropriate for you to just barge in the room when I am bathing," Isabella snapped, dipping beneath the water so everything was obscured by the haze of soapy bubbles. Not that she had anything on her body that her husband had not seen before, but that was different. This was supposed to be a private space for her to unwind, and now even that intimacy was being broken by his presence.

"Forgive me, my dear, but I was worried when I woke alone. I wished to see if you were alright."

"Yes, well, you can see I am in perfect health."

"Good," Jacob replied with a smile, leaning down into her space. It was then Isabella realized that he was going in for a kiss, and that she would have to oblige with a short peck to the lips. It was a brief gesture, one she did as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. "Now that your health is settled, how are you feeling?"

"Is that not the same thing?"

"Nonsense," Jacob laughed and shook his head, gazing down into the water at her stomach. "I meant, how are you feeling about last night? Do you think we succeeded in our efforts?"

"Only time shall tell," Isabella replied with a forced smile. It was clear that Jacob felt proud of himself, no doubt thinking upon last night with a successful conquest in mind while all Isabella could think about was the longest ten minutes of her life.

"Well, I am feeling rather good about this whole ordeal. So good, in fact, that I think we should celebrate."

"Are we not having the ball later this evening?"

"That is not the same!" Jacob shook his head, waving away the notion that one opulent party was enough. "That ball is for the people, but I meant something much more personal."

"Oh?"

"I wish to spend the day with you, showering you with my affection."

"I am flattered, really, but that is not necessary - "

"Nonsense, I insist," Jacob said with finality, leaving Isabella with no room to negotiate. She was stuck in this mess, her eyes darting subtly to Alice to save her, but the maid had dashed away during the couple's conversation.

"Then I must humbly accept."

"Wonderful!" Jacob clapped his hands together, even more pleased than before. "I shall see you when you are finished getting beautiful, though you are always beautiful to me."

Isabella could have gagged at the sentiment, but miraculously managed a smile. If that line was anything to go off of, it was going to be a long day indeed.

* * *

After a morning spent in the breakfast room entertaining courtiers and an extended social tea in the garden hosting even more nobles, Isabella was worn to the bone, and it was not even high noon. Faking smiles and chipper attitudes when she would rather be anywhere other than baking in the hot sun surrounded by her least favorite people took a lot out of her. Thankfully this round of socializing was indoors, the smaller of the parlors half-full of politicians and friends of friends buzzing with conversation. Everyone wanted to talk to her, everyone wanted to gossip about her, and there was no hotter the topic about her than the potential heir.

Of course, Jacob could not keep his mouth shut for more than ten minutes before he was divulging private matters with every man woman and servant he could get his hands on. He nearly boasted how hard they had tried to make the dream of an heir a reality, gratuitously stoking his rumored prowess much to the delight of his guests. For him, this was something to boast about, but for Isabella, it was a spectacle that made her want to bury her head in the cushions of the settee. She was mortified, clamoring for reasons to leave and return to her quarters, but that was not acceptable.

Though a little less refined than considered socially acceptable, this was supposed to be an exciting, joyous occasion. An heir was a blessing, and yet, Isabella looked as though it could be a curse. What kind of monster felt as though a child would ruin her life? She was the queen; she was supposed to be nurturing and kind. To have this outlook, to be so cynical an grim and passive aggressive did not bode well for her reputation, and so she stayed and suffered and played her part. Because she was the luckiest girl in the world, and that was how she was supposed to react.

"What do you think love?" Jacob asked, leaning over and showing her swatches of velvet in sumptuous shades of red. She scrunched her nose, for as much as she wore red, it was not her favorite color, and those tones were simply gaudy.

"What is this for?" she asked, taking the swatches to be polite, holding them up to the light though she had no intention of actually considering either.

"For the nursery of course," Jacob replied as if it were obvious, and Isabella tried not to lose her temper. "Only the best for the mother of my future child."

The lords and ladies in the seats opposite Isabella let out adoring sighs, thinking this dog and pony show was the most romantic thing their insipid minds had ever seen.

That was it. She had had too much. Any more of this and she might explode.

"I'll be right back, dear," Isabella said, hoping her wan smile wasn't showing her impatience.

Jacob must have been too caught up in his planning to reply, but she did not care. Usually she chalked that up to his lack of caring, but now she could not be more grateful for the sudden obliviousness. It gave her time to slip out of the room mostly unnoticed. Some of the present company saw her, which gave her hope that at least one of them would tell Jacob she had left so he did not feel the urge to send a search party to track her down.

Though she had left in a rush, Isabella had no plan on where to go. She was only thinking one step at a time, and right now, she was thinking of the best route to her room without being seen by too many people. There was a service staircase the servants took to the upper floors through the laundry, and that was not too far away. If she could make it down the hall without being spotted, there was little chance of anyone spreading word back to her guests.

In her haste, Isabella turned the corner too quickly and bowled into two passerbys, knocking herself off course. Strong hands reached out to grip her forearms, keeping her from falling on her ass.

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

The voice was low and laced with a dangerous edge that had Isabella on guard. However, when she was steady enough to look at who had accosted her, she was surprised to see a familiar face.

"My apologies. I must not have seen you," she said to the man who spoke, but her eyes were trained on the all too heartbreakingly familiar russet hair and green eyes.

"Not to worry," the other man assured, brushing off his pristine black jacket. When he noticed that her attention was elsewhere, he traced Isabella's gaze back to Edward, then returned to look at her curiously. "Do you two happen to be acquainted?"

"Only for a short while," she replied evenly, trying not to put too much emotion behind the words. After all, there was nothing to be emotional about. Their entire relationship was a short-lived flirtation that held not footing in the real world. So then why did it hurt her so damn much to see those green eyes boring into hers with what looked like incredible amounts of pain?

"Ah, so you are the mysterious Miss Alice I have heard so much about," the blond man rasped, his lips curled up into a sharp smile that exposed his teeth. He leaned into a bow, taking her hand for a kiss. "Jasper Whitlock, at your service."

She nodded and took a step back, studying him more closely. Isabella had only seen Edward's mysterious companion from afar, always noting how serious and somber he looked, wondering how Alice could see anything appealing about a man who would not crack even the faintest of grins. In private, she could see the appeal. He appeared the perfect gentlemen, just like Edward. On top of being alluringly handsome, and owning a lovely voice, Isabella had to say that Alice had chosen quite well.

"Edward has told me that you are close with the royals, so perhaps you could shed some light on a situation," Jasper propositioned, despite the tight look on Edward's face that seemed as though he wanted to stop Jasper in his tracks. "There are so many nasty rumors going around about the king and queen's whereabouts during the ball last night. I am concerned, deeply so. You would not happen to know anything, would you?"

At the sound of Jasper's wounded voice, Isabella could have slapped herself for her callousness. Of course rumors would circulate about her absence; of course people would jump to conclusions, even if they were the right ones. And, of course, that would only damage the budding relationship between her maid and this handsome foreigner.

"What the king and queen decide to do with their time is not for me to say," Isabella replied cordially, trying to keep in character. Something about Jasper's gaze was unnerving, like he could see straight through her thinly cast veneer. "However, I am sure she would be more than willing to talk should you go ask."

"Oh?" Jasper arched an eyebrow, taking a step closer, intrigued. "And does the fair lady know where the queen might be this afternoon hour?"

Isabella smiled, glad she had given Alice the afternoon off, knowing exactly where she liked to spend her down time. She only hoped her maid had foregone her uniform in lieu of something much more...queenly. "I believe, kind sir, that you may find some luck in the parlor just down the hall."

Jasper flashed a huge, wolfish smile, his spirits lifted. "I am indebted to you, Miss Alice."

"The pleasure was mine."

Just like that, he was off, nearly running down the hall to reach his lady love. It was so cute to witness, and Isabella felt a pang in her chest, longing for the blossoms of real love. But then she turned, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized that Edward, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and reserved during the whole exchange, was still standing by her side. His proximity made it hard to breathe, and she wondered if that affect was normal, or if it was just him that made her feel like her whole body was on fire. Usually it was a good fire, but after their last encounter, it felt like if she got too close, she would burn.

"Mister Masen," she tried tentatively, grateful that there was no tremor to give away her nerves.

Edward swallowed thickly, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Miss Alice."

They stood for a moment, wallowing in the oppressive silence, both unsure of what to do. Edward was fiddling with his cuffs, Isabella gnawing on her lip, looking around the hall for words that would not come to her lips. This was torture, and the silence stretched, making the situation more and more unbearable until -

"It is my deepest regret that I -"

"I wanted to apologize for - "

They rushed over one another, both unable to stand the quiet any longer. And with the divulging of words came the breaking of tension, an ease washing over them that made breathing blessedly easier than before.

Edward let out a strained chuckle, making a gesture for her to continue. "Please, go ahead."

"No, no, I insist. You first," Isabella replied, nodding vehemently as she was not quite she of what she wanted to say. Everything was so jumbled, she had not the time to gather her thoughts before they were scattering from her mind. Thankfully, Edward did her the kindness of complying to her wish, taking the floor with his head bowed in shame.

"I wanted to apologize for what I said the other day. I overreacted, and my behavior was abhorrent, the furthest thing from what a gentleman should be."

"You did not overreact," Isabella assured, feeling guilt gnaw at her heart. Of all the things he could have said, of all the berating she deserved, an apology was the last thing she expected from him. "I understand your hurt. I was callous and cruel to you."

"No words could be further from the truth," he refuted, eyes heavy and, dare she say, glistening with moisture. "You were nothing but indulgent of me, humoring my advances. It was I who read more into the situation and allowed us to get carried away."

"I wanted you to read those things," Isabella confessed, ashamed. "I knew what could happen if I indulged you and I let it happen anyway."

"We could continue this way for ages," Edward sighed, his lips quirking up into a tentative smile. He was right; they were going round and round in a circle of blame, achieving nothing but bringing themselves more pain. "Let us agree that we are both somewhat to blame, but also both innocent."

"If that is what you wish, Mister Masen, then I will agree."

With that, the rest of their tension and resentment vanished, wiping their slate clean, ready to start anew. Edward looked down upon her softly, and if Isabella was not mistaken, with admiration.

"I've missed your smile," he said before remembering himself and schooling his features back into propriety. "Forgive me, that was too forward."

"No, not at all. I have missed yours as well."

That softened him once more, though there was still a cautious edge to his gaze, as if testing how far he could push their new boundaries.

"I know you are a busy woman, Miss Alice, what with a kitchen to run and all, but I would like us to make formal amends."

"Oh?"

"Have dinner with me, tonight," he requested, and Isabella felt her breath catch in her throat. She surely was not expecting this. "Not to worry, this is a purely platonic request. I have no want to return to the ball just yet, and there is no work to be done when your delicacies are being consumed buy the gentry. What do you say?"

His offer was tempting, sinfully so, and Isabella was hard pressed to find a reason not to go. He had a good point after all: what was she really going to do with her night? After being banished from the kitchens, she had taken to reading or simply enjoying alone time, but even that lost its appeal after a night or two. There was no chance of letting Jacob back into her bed; he was going to be partying the night away anyway. She had nothing to do, no one to report to, and no better prospects.

"You are a hard man to deny, Mister Masen."

"Then do not say no."

"Very well. Dinner, tonight," she caved, too pleased to care about the satisfied grin that crept up Edward's face. "When should I expect you?"

"Stand at this very spot when the minstrel strums for the first dance, and I shall be here to greet you," he instructed, scooping up both her hands to place a kiss to her knuckles. Isabella would be lying if she said she did not feel her face flush at the touch of those lips upon her skin. "Until tonight, Miss Alice."

"Until tonight," she repeated in a daze, trying to make sense of what she had just agreed to as the giddy figure of her handsome stranger sauntered away.

"There you are!" cried an unwelcome voice from the end of the hall. Isabella shuddered, turning to find Princess Rachel storming her way like an angry peacock, turquoise skirts flying up as she hustled Isabella's way, ruining her good mood. The princess looked positively murderous, her cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed as she closed in on her prey. "Jacob has been looking everywhere for you, after you ran out on him so rudely."

"It was not my intention to offend the king; I was simply headed to the washroom," Isabella replied evenly, keeping her head level despite the voice in her mind encouraging her to tell the annoying woman off.

"No, it never is," Princess Rachel scowled disapprovingly, yanking on Isabella's arm so that she could drag her back to the slaughter.

"Whatever do you mean?" Isabella asked, her eyes narrowing, preparing for a spat. Everything led to an argument when it came to Rachel.

However, the woman just kept walking arm in arm with Isabella, pulling on a smile to stave off any onlooking, gossipy servants.

"I was so sad that we never had the chance to chat last night. Though, you surely seemed to enjoy yourself."

There was something bitter in her tone that Isabella did not like, something that suggested that Rachel would have rather her have a miserable time. Not that she was even there in the first place, but Isabella reveled in the small fact that Alice was enjoying herself. After all, this switch was supposed to be benefiting the both of them.

"You as well, I hope."

"The goose liver pâté was quite exquisite, do you not agree?"

"Of course it was," Isabella replied rather haughtily, though Rachel knew complimenting someone else's cooking was a low blow. Isabella wished she could have been the one to get her hands on such a dish, but Angela was still bitter, and Isabella had to take things one step at a time. It was only a matter of when she would be allowed back into the kitchen fully, not if.

"Funny, I did not see you try any."

Rachel cocked her head to the side, goading the queen. Isabella was on thin ice; one wrong word could blow a hole in her cover.

"Perhaps you were too busy with your drink to notice."

"Perhaps _you_ were too busy with your _lover_ to mind anyone else in the room."

Ah, and there it was: the crux of the matter. Isabella should not have been surprised to discover that Rachel had been watching her - or rather Alice - with disdain. As much as the princess flittered and traipsed about with whomever she pleased whenever she pleased, she had a nasty habit of judging others for the same behavior. The fact that, in her mind, it was Isabella making the esteemed poor choices only gave the spiteful woman all the more ammunition to smear her name.

"You know, I am feeling rather unwell. I think I will be retiring to my rooms now. Do give my husband my regards," Isabella said resolutely, not needing to stand such disrespect, especially from someone she, herself, did not respect.

"Something is not right with you Isabella, and believe me - I will find out what!"


	14. Night Seven

A/N: Hello loves! This chapter might get a tad confusing, so I just wanted to clear some things up. Since this is through Edward's POV, every time Isabella is mentioned, she is going to be referred to as "Alice" since he doesn't know who she really is. The real Alice is off enjoying the ball having a grand old time. So just remember that Alice = Isabella. That said, please enjoy! XOXOX!

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Night Seven

There were better things Edward could be doing with his time than planning a date, but one night to himself was not going to threaten the plan. At least, that was how he pitched things to Jasper when his partner refused to indulge Edward on this little outing. _We were not sent here to make nice with the staff,_ he spat venomously as Edward told him he was taking the night off, to which Edward merely replied with, _Your whole job is making nice with the queen._ And really, Edward had no job to do until Jasper decided that the queen was where he wanted her. Edward had made the connections, weaseled his way into both the King and his sister's good graces. He and Jasper had free access to anything and everything they wanted, no thanks to the blond egomaniacal ass. So, Edward felt entitled to a break. Besides, it was not like everything hinged on this one night. They were barely half way through the ball, nowhere near ready to execute the final plan.

Jasper would have to live with his disappointment and resentment. Edward was going to do what he wished, and what he wished was to spend one evening with the lady who he could not shake from his thoughts.

For a brief minute, Edward worried that Alice would not show up, that she was merely being polite in accepting his invitation and had no real intention of following through. However, Edward knew that was strictly out of her character. She was one of the most genuine people he knew, which was part of the reason he was attracted to her.

Then, she appeared, striding towards him with purpose. Edward felt his mouth run dry as he took in the sight of her: dark hair piled atop her head in loose curls that framed her heart-shaped face, her dress simple yet flattering in a shade of navy blue. It was hard to look away, though in the back of his mind he wondered where a servant gathered enough money to afford dresses as nice as the ones she sported. Perhaps there were perks to working for an insufferable nuisance such as the King after all.

"Miss Alice, you are a vision."

Edward reached down and scooped up one of her gloved hands in his own, placing a kiss upon the knuckles.

Her cheeks flushed a lovely rose color, her dark eyes casting down towards the ground. "You flatter me, Mister Masen."

"Believe me, the praise is genuine, and deserved," Edward replied, finding that, despite the number of lies he had told since arriving in her kingdom, it was in fact the truth.

She merely flushed darker, and started to fidget. Perhaps he indeed had gone a little overboard with the compliments. "So, I believe you promised me dinner?"

"And dinner we shall have," Edward agreed, extending his elbow for her to take. "If you will, Miss Alice."

Her slender arm snaked through his, small hand grasping at his forearm as he guided them through the empty halls and outside into the gardens. Edward had always had a good memory, able to navigate his way through foreign places. It was one of the attributes that made him such a good spy. Which was why he remembered the secluded little garden tucked away behind a slew of large hedges, too far off the beaten path to attract frequent use. It was there where he set up a picnic complete with candles and a large bottle of red wine. All this combined with the starry night made the setting overtly romantic, and Alice was not one to let that escape her notice.

"All this for me?"

"I do not do anything in half measures, Miss Alice. Especially not for the people I care about."

"Whatever happened to a 'strictly platonic offer'?"

"No matter what I tell myself, I cannot bring my heart to follow suit," he admitted, knowing how incredibly cliche the line was, but having used it enough to know the kind of response it normally drew out of women. "If I have crossed some line, and you wish to leave, then I understand."

Alice only arched one elegant eyebrow, staring through him as if trying to parse out some nefarious purpose. When none was found, she still kept the skeptical, yet amused look, and settled down upon the blanket. She crossed her delicate ankles to the side, her navy skirt pillowing out at her lap. Such a display took manners that Edward thought a lowly kitchen girl would not normally possess, which only added to her mystery.

There was something about this Alice, something that hinted that she was more than what she seemed. It drew him in, drove him crazy, distracted him from the task at hand. Edward knew this flirtation was a bad idea; when she ended it a few days ago, he should have made the split permanent, but here is was, still in pursuit of what he knew to be his downfall. Yet, he could not bring himself to care, not when Alice was surveying his efforts with a soft appreciation, smiling to herself when she thought that he would not notice.

"I do hope you like cold meats," Edward said, pulling plates out of the basket, along with some sort of roast, cheese, as well as an array of fruits and rolls. It was simple, yet all he could manage to coax out of that Angela woman in the kitchen. She certainly was a piece of work, though Edward did admit to leaving a bad taste in her mouth as she obviously objected to his unorthodox relationship to Alice.

"That will do just fine, thank you," Alice replied, clearly grateful and, dare he say, impressed with the spread. For someone with such culinary prowess, Alice looked as though she would be much more difficult to impress.

Silence settled over them as the food was parsed out, nothing but the sounds of thoughtful chewing scattered amongst the chirps of the crickets. From this distance, the music from the ballroom was reduced to a mere whisper, but with nothing else to fill the air, it might as well have been right next to them.

"So, are we to talk about it, or leave well enough alone?" Edward prompted after a minute, tired of dancing around her. He was always much more the type to dive into the flames headfirst, regardless of how badly he would get burned.

"Talk about what?"

"This scintillating revelation that you are, in fact, a married woman."

"Ah yes, that..." Alice sighed, setting her glass down as if steeling herself for battle. "My husband and I...we were married when I was practically a child. I did not have much say in it to be honest; it was our fathers' idea since they were such close friends. I suppose I should really be lucky, since most women do not get the opportunity to meet their husbands before they are walking down the aisle. But I had grown up with him, and I think that made our fathers assume that we would be happy."

"They were wrong."

"Very wrong," Alice agreed solemnly, staring off into the distance. She looked distressed, as if the subject pained her, and the last thing Edward wanted was to hurt her again.

"You do not have to keep speaking if you do not wish. You owe me nothing."

"Yes, I do. I owe you an explanation," Alice insisted firmly, leaving no room for arguing. So, Edward shut his mouth and let her talk. "It is not like he is a cruel man, or even a bad one. He is a very good man, and any woman would be lucky to call him theirs. But...I always thought that when I married, I would be lucky enough to marry for love. I was a fool."

"Wanting love is not foolish," Edward said softly and with more compassion than he knew himself capable.

"I feel as though every day I spend in his company, I am suffocating. My soul is leeching from my body, and there is no way to stop it," she lamented, looking absolutely miserable. That was, until she looked at Edward, and it was like the first rays of sunlight had broken through the storm. He felt his breath catch for just a moment, wishing for nothing more than to keep that look upon her face forever. "Then, I met you, and the world suddenly had color and life. I became addicted to it. In some ways, I believe I still am."

"This addiction, as you call it, is mutual," Edward said in earnest, watching the way her eyes widened as she processed his words. "Alice, I come from a place where there is nothing but suffering and warfare. Children starve in the streets and brothers turn on brothers, slaughtering each other in senseless violence. Yet, in the midst of my storm, you are something good and kind, and I find myself wanting to linger longer in your light before the darkness swallows me whole."

This was the most honest Edward had been with anyone in a very long time, perhaps since he was a child, not that he expected Alice to appreciate the weight of that. Exposing himself like this, showing this kind of emotion, was not acceptable, not in his line of work. But there was no denying that what began as a flirtation quickly spiraled into something he could not explain, and something that he did not want to let go. At least, not yet. He would have to eventually. The ball would end, and he would have to commit the gravest of acts in order to get what he and Jasper came for. He would have to flee the kingdom right after. There would be no time for goodbyes, and just thinking of leaving Alice alone and without an explanation made his chest lurch in a way that was most uncomfortable and not exactly welcome.

So, he would focus on lighter things before Alice's shining doe eyes and her naive optimism crushed his resolve.

"My brother is throwing his own version of the masquerade. He does this every year, and the invitations are supposed to be highly sought-after."

Alice took the change in conversation in stride, looking rather grateful for the levity herself. "And you managed to get yourself and invitation?"

"Yes, an unlimited one, at that. For myself and...anyone else I may want to bring."

Her eyebrow arched like it had earlier in the evening, looking upon him with knowing skepticism. "Where is this going?"

"I would like nothing more than if you were accompany me to my brother's soiree tomorrow evening."

Edward could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. Until just now, he had no intention of ever following up on his brother's olive branch. Now, however, a night away from the palace with Alice in his arms sounded positively divine, his brother's company excluded. Jasper would be livid; Edward could imagine his murderous eyes now, but he couldn't be assed to care.

"Will everyone not notice your absence at the ball if you mysteriously vanish for two nights in a row?"

"Until a week ago, no one in Forks even knew I existed. I doubt they will miss me too terribly," he shrugged, taking a drink from his glass. He could not be bothered to care what everyone else thought of him. All he cared about was what she thought. "I know, for some reason, you do not want to attend the royal masquerade, but this will be different. There will be music and dancing and good food - though no food could ever surpass yours. Besides, you already have a mask."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mister Masen," she sighed, and Edward knew that her resolve had crumbled. "Yes, I would very much like to accompany you tomorrow night."

"Miss Alice, you have made me the happiest man in the kingdom."

She gave him a pleased smile, unable to hide her excitement about the upcoming night. "I only ask that I be back before sunrise. A girl still has to make a living."

"Done."

It was a small price to pay for the pleasure of her company.

He raised his glass to clink against hers, sealing the deal with bittersweet wine. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many things she did not yet know about his life - could never know about his life - but Edward had been playing in high stakes for so long, that some things were worth the risk.


	15. Day Eight

A/N: Sorry about the unexpected hiatus loves! Life has been stressful to say the least, but now that I'm home and responsibility-free for a month I'm going to focus on trying to update this story more. As you've more than likely figured, we are a little more than half way through this story. Nothing monumental happens in this chapter, but it's a good set up for what's to come in the next one and the rest of the story. Plus, it's really fun to write some of these interactions. Edward and Bella are just super flirtatious and fun! At least, I hope they come off that way! Hope you loves enjoy! XOXOX

Also, when going back and reading through the story, I realized that I had Jacob and Isabella being married for different amounts of time. I just wanted to set the record straight. Isabella and Jacob have about a four year age difference between them, with Jacob being the older one. They got engaged/married when Jacob was 20 and Isabella was 16. They have been married nearly 10 years, making them 30 and 26 respectively.

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Day Eight

That morning, Isabella woke and decided that enough was enough.

Today was the day that she reclaimed her kitchen access.

She woke at first dawn, before even Alice had a chance to stir, and pulled out a serving smock and apron from her chest under her bed. No one knew about this chest, not even Alice. Isabella had always feared that if anyone knew where she kept her common things, they would be taken away. Isabella dressed herself quickly and pulled hair into a loose coil pinned at the nape of her neck.

This early and looking so plain, no one was going to spot her. It made her trip to the kitchen easy. There was barely anyone working as of yet, a handful of servants milling about the fireplace sharing bread and chatting before they had to wake their lords and ladies and present them with a morning meal. Only two women occupied the industrial part of the kitchen - one of which was sweeping the floors and the other already hard at work chopping vegetables.

Angela.

The girl had her back to Isabella, bent over her cutting board as she focused on her task. Briefly, Isabella wondered if she should have brought treats for Angela to smooth things over, but on second thought that seemed too much like a bribe, and Isabella did not want to buy her way into anywhere.

"Good morning," Isabella greeted softly. For a moment, Angela's back went completely straight. Her head twitched as if to turn, but she schooled it back into place.

"I know that you are cross with me, understandably so, but I want to make amends," Isabella stated, walking up to the butcher's block. Angela still refused to raise her head, stubbornly yet respectfully focused on her work. Fear flew through Isabella's veins alongside regret, but she pushed both those down and forced herself to stay and see this through. "I apologize for being so rude last we spoke. I was out of line, and queen or not, I have always considered us equals. You are my friend, Angela, and in many ways my mentor. I have never had the pleasure of a sister, but...working in the kitchens with you has been the source of utmost joy in my life. Without it, I am not the same. Without you, I am not the same. Please, give me a second chance to make this right."

Angela's cutting hand had stilled, her body rigid where she stood. It felt like an eternity before she replied, "Alright."

"Alright?" Isabella mimed, holding her breath as she did not want to get her hopes up too high lest they cruelly be dashed.

Only then did Angela look up, appearing as if she was trying her hardest to remain neutral when what she really wanted to do was smile.

"Jessica is sick, and there is no one to make quiche. Go and fetch the eggs from the roost and we shall work from there."

"Thank you!" Isabella gushed, rushing over and pulling Angela into a tight hug that stole the other girl's breath. She let out an 'oof' but there was laughter in her tone as she returned the hug. A moment later and Isabella was pulling away and rushing out the door. "You will not regret this Angela!"

Angela would not regret letting her back in; Isabella was determined to prove to the kitchen maid that she was not going to cause any more problems.

Of course, Isabella just happened to run into trouble the next hall over, bowling head-first into a man walking in the opposite direction. A very well-dressed, handsome man with reddish brown hair and a familiar set of emerald green eyes.

"Miss Alice, what a pleasant surprise running into you here."

"Yes, a pleasant surprise indeed," Isabella replied, feeling her cheeks flush as Edward steadied her. Thankfully she had not been carrying anything; the only damage done was that to her pride. "Though I must wonder why such an important guest is wandering around servant's quarters. Do not tell me I am not the only kitchen girl you have been wooing."

"Wooing? Is that what I have been up to? You should have told me. I was completely unaware," Edward asked playfully, green eyes sparkling. Isabella merely giggled, knowing that he was toying with her. He seemed to enjoy doing that. "All jokes aside, worry not. You are the only kitchen girl in my sights."

Isabella exaggerated a sigh, her hand resting upon her heart. "That is a relief."

Edward only smiled wider. "It is actually fortunate that we found one another. I wished to speak about the party tonight."

"Oh?" Isabella asked, cocking her head to the side. "Are we still scheduled to attend?"

"Yes, yes of course," Edward assured. "Simply, I wanted to remind you that this is a masquerade, and I have heard that the ladies who attend dress quite...opulently."

Isabella arched an eyebrow, ready to toy with him this time. "Are you insulting my wardrobe, Mr. Masen?"

"Heaven forbid!" Edward crossed his hand over his heart in a swearing motion. "For a kitchen girl, your gowns have always amazed me with their finery. I only wanted to inquire if you had a costume, or if you wished for me to accompany you into town so you may purchase one."

His generosity was unexpected, but Isabella should not have been surprised, not after all he had already given her. He had been so good to her, that it made her heart lurch. She was used to being spoiled by the king, but more often than not, it felt like she was being bought. When Edward offered her things, it only felt like he was doing it out of true admiration, and that made all the difference.

"That is a kind and generous offer, but I actually have just the thing."

"Perfect," Edward said with a smile, and Isabella wondered, briefly, if he was upset that she had not said yes. A silly notion when she heard what he said next. "I am sure that I will be dazzled, Miss Alice. Just do one thing for me?"

"What is it?"

"Wear the mask I gave you. It would mean the world to me."

"I believe that can be managed," Isabella replied coyly.

"I cannot wait," Edward said, reaching to take her hand and placing a kiss on the knuckle. It was brief but lingered long enough to send shivers down Isabella's spine. "I shall come to the kitchens just before sundown to pick you up."

"The carriage port instead?" Isabella suggested. She did not want to run the risk of anyone discovering them, not that she could tell Edward that. "I do not want to risk getting anything on my dress."

"Very well. The carriage port," Edward agreed without fuss. He seemed to just be pleased to have her company.

"Sundown," Isabella confirmed, and Edward nodded.

He released her hand and took a step back so he could bow briefly at the waist. "Until then, Miss Alice."

Isabella waved Edward goodbye as he walked away, her body leaning against the wall to steady herself. Her heart was beating so quickly she felt it might burst. There was no logical reason to explain why she was so affected by him. No logical reason, except and illogical one.

An illogical reason like love.

* * *

The kitchens baked tirelessly until mid-afternoon. By the time Isabella had laid the final quiche over a flame, she was elbow-deep in flower and covered in goodness knows what else. She desperately needed a bath, especially if she were to be presentable for her party.

With a final hug to Angela, Isabella made her exit. It had been such a satisfying day; she was sure that she had cemented her place in the kitchens once more. Everyone had turned to her for something that day, whether it be for assistance with pie crusts or filleting the freshly-caught salmon. She had not felt that useful in a long time, nor as sore. Her arms burned from exertion, but it was a good kind of burn.

Isabella was in such a good mood that nothing could bring her down.

Well, almost nothing.

"Isabella is that you? I could hardly tell under all that flour," Rachel commented snidely, looking Isabella up and down as if she were prey. Of all the people in the palace, of course Isabella had to run into the one she loathed. "You look rather flushed."

"I'm afraid the heat is getting the best of me. The ovens have been running all morning," Isabella lied, her tone even and restrained so that she did not snap at the rude princess. There was no version of reality where she revealed that she had been thinking about Edward all day, and just the thought of the kiss on the back of her hand made her want to swoon.

"Ah yes, your little hobby," Rachel sniveled, turning her nose up in disdain. "Rather demeaning if you ask me. Imagine if the people had seen you like this."

"I did not ask, but I like to think that the people appreciate a queen who shares similar interests and is not afraid to get her hands dirty."

Isabella did not wish to continue any conversation with Princess Rachel, especially not a conversation this blatantly offensive. She tried to squeeze past the woman, but was blocked by a mass of pink crepe and tulle.

"Wherever were you running off to? Let me accompany you."

It was not a suggestion, more like a demand. Rachel had a hard edge to her dark eyes that let Isabella know that Rachel had much more to say, and none of it good.

"I hardly think that is necessary. I am quite capable of going to my chambers by myself."

"A young woman, married or otherwise, should not be seen without a chaperone," Princess Rachel chided, looping her arm through Isabella's and pulling her tight to her side. "Why my brother gives you free reign to act so inappropriately, I will never understand."

"I am not a child," Isabella replied, trying and failing to free herself from the princess' grip. "And you are not my nanny."

"Someone should be to keep you out of trouble."

"Whatever does _that_ mean?"

 _How dare she!_ Isabella felt her hackles raising. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to remain calm when all she desired was to reach over and rip Rachel's hair out.

Rachel paused in her step so that she could look Isabella dead in the eye. "I will be frank with you. That Volterran stranger, the one who's tickled your fancy, stay away from him."

"And why would I do that?"

"You act so differently when you are around him...it is almost as if you are two different people entirely."

There was too much knowing in her voice. Isabella felt her pulse quicken, but she did not give in to Rachel. She could not let Rachel best her, even if she was far too close for comfort.

"Perhaps you are looking far too deeply into my business, Your Highness, when you should be busy minding your own."

"Why, the nerve of you!" Rachel gasped, clearly offended. "Your deplorable behavior as of late only confirms that this man is a bad influence!"

"No, your deplorable behavior ever since I came to the palace is the reason I hate it here!" Isabella finally snapped, and Rachel was so shocked that she dropped Isabella's arm altogether. Isabella spun around and stepped into Rachel's space, tired of being walked on and bullied. "You want me to be a good wife to your brother? Then you, and the lords, and the governors stop forcing him on me."

"So you admit that you do not love my brother? That you are having an affair with this lower class stranger?"

"Whoever I invite to my bed, your brother or otherwise, is none of your business," Isabella fired back. They had finally approached her chambers, and she pulled the doors open, giving a final, "Good day, Your Highness," before slamming them in Rachel's face.

Isabella locked the door for good measure. Thankfully, the other woman did not try to make a further scene and presumably stormed off. Exhausted, Isabella let out a huff and threw herself on her bed, throwing her face into her pillow.

"Well, that was quite dramatic," Alice commented idly, not looking up from where she was mending a lace sleeve on one of Isabella's gowns. Isabella had been so caught up in her anger that she had not realized she was not alone.

"One day, I swear I am going to kill that woman," Isabella vowed. "I am going to take the executioner's axe and cleave her head clean from her shoulders."

"As satisfying as that would be, you are no murderer, Your Majesty."

"She may very well drive me to it."

"Take a bath, calm your nerves. All shall be less infuriating once you are clean," Alice suggested instead, pointing in the direction of the washroom where Isabella could see a steaming tub waiting for her.

"You are a sainted woman," Isabella praised.

And, of course, the maid was right. The water was just the right temperature to soothe her aching muscles and mind. She let herself be carried away by the scents of roses and vanilla until the water cooled and the first rays of light started to sink down the horizon. Then, she toweled off and directed her focus towards the night's festivities.

"Alice, come help me pick out a dress."

"Whatever for, Your Majesty?" Alice asked, suddenly nervous. "Do you plan on attending the ball yourself tonight?"

"No, nothing like that," Isabella assured, soothing Alice's fears. "You shall have your night with your handsome stranger. I, on the other hand, have been invited to an entirely separate gathering."

"Oh, do tell!" Alice insisted, now very excited.

"Mister Edward Masen, the companion to your one Mister Jasper Whitlock, has asked me to accompany him to his brother's soiree in the city," Isabella explained, a dream-like quality to her voice that she had not possessed in a long time. She had not been looking forward to an event like this since getting married. She had thought that all functions would be spent on the arm of her husband. Now that she was going out with pleasant company, she felt a sense of giddiness overtake her. "Apparently his brother is quite wealthy, and titled. The party is the second most coveted invitation in the land, falling just short fo the royal masquerade, though I think that this party will be far preferable."

"Your Majesty, this is very dangerous. It was one matter when you were sequestered in the palace. To have you out on the town without a chaperone, in the presence of a foreign man, it does not sit well with me."

"I shall be just fine, Alice. I would not have agreed to go if I did not trust Edward completely," Isabella replied, grateful for her maid's concern even if it was a tad ridiculous. "Now, which do you think?," she asked as she displayed two gowns, changing topics before Alice could come back with any more counterpoints. "The cream or the black?"

Alice sighed heavily. "Neither. There is a lovely silver striped crinoline in here somewhere that would suit just fine."

True to her word, the crinoline was hanging in the very back of the wardrobe, voluminous and heavy. Overtop it lied a skirt of black silk striped with shimmering silver ribbons as thin as hairs. It was meant to be paired with a matching bodice, though Isabella thought that tonight was a night to take risks. So instead she pulled a strapless black bustier out of one of her drawers and paired it with a pair of black opera gloves and a black lace shawl. Modest, but still worthy of the title of costume.

"You do not think it too extravagant? Remind you, to him I am just a kitchen maid," Isabella inquired, eager for a second opinion. As a queen, the costume was rather unimpressive. However, Isabella did recognize that even her simplest of garments were envied by the common classes.

"Even a kitchen maid has a few nice things," Alice replied, studying the creation intently. "Do you have a mask?"

"Yes," Isabella said, rushing over to her vanity to pull the mask Edward gave her out of its hiding place. She had kept it in a drawer to avoid suspicion, especially after her husband came around without warning. Now, watching it catch the light made her remember just how breathtaking the piece actually was. Even if she wore a potato sack, she would steal the show wearing this mask.

"Exquisite," Alice complimented, comparing the mask to the dress. "I think all the dark colors will draw attention to the mask, and therefore your face."

"As it should," Isabella approved, her fingers running over the smooth crafted glass. "Such artwork deserves to be admired."

"So humble, Your Majesty," Alice teased, and Isabella rolled her eyes.

"I was talking about the mask, Alice."

"Of course you were," Alice agreed, though her tone was still light and teasing. "Now, go get your undergarments on. The sooner I finish you, the sooner I can begin my own transformation."

Isabella laughed under her breath, shaking her head. She got dressed in record time, Alice positioning the crinoline and lacing the corset with nimble, expert hands. Isabella felt rather naked around her clavicle, even with the shawl to cover her, but decided against any kind of jewels. It was one thing to show up in a beautiful gown, but it was an entirely other matter to have to explain the kitchen girl's sudden ability to afford rubies or diamonds. Besides, Alice did a wonder with cosmetics, paling Isabella's face, shadowing her eyes so they would stand out against the mask, and rouging her lips.

"You need something in your hair. Something to complete the look..." Alice hummed, rummaging around the room for something perfect.

When the maid returned, Isabella felt her poking about her hair.

"Crow's feathers?"

"A group of crows is called a murder."

"Ha ha Alice, very funny," Isabella replied drolly, tilting her head side to side to assess just how much damage her maid managed to do. "Though, I must say, I rather like how they look."

"As do I," Alice preened at the praise, fluffing the last of Isabella's loose curls. Most of her hair was done up in a curly hive except for a few loose strands that hung low to fall delicately across her collarbone. With the feathers in place and pearl pins keeping the style together, a pale face and ruby red lips, she looked like a creature of the night.

A dark swan.

Edward would be dazzled, that much was sure.


	16. Night Eight Part One

A/N: I've been dying to write this chapter since the beginning! I just love fancy parties and fancy parties that feature both of these darlings falling in love...what more could I ask for as an author? There is a lot going on, so there is going to be two parts: one for Isabella and one for Edward. I hope you loves enjoy this chapter as much as I do! XOXOX!

* * *

Night Eight Part One - Isabella

Lord Emmett and Lady Rosalie Hastings lived in a very fashionable part of town.

That was not what surprised Isabella. Neither was the sheer volume of equally fashionable guests that lined up out front of the esteemed brownstone.

No, what surprised Isabella was the sheer bewilderment on Edward's face upon his seeing it. Isabella had assumed that, being brothers, Edward would be well-acquainted with Emmett's dwellings. Apparently this was not the case. He was as lost as the rest of the guests, simply following the crowd's lead with Isabella on his arm, towing the both of them up to the stoic butler, card in hand, and through the masses until they finally made it indoors.

The inside of the brownstone was even larger and more opulent than the outside. Immediately Isabella was swarmed upon by staff who took her shawl and proffered her a glass of something sparkling.

"Well, his lordship certainly knows how to throw a party," Isabella remarked, taking a sip off her glass. She was trying her best not to sound too inquisitive, but her curiosity surrounding the brothers' relationship was getting the best of her.

"Yes," Edward hummed in agreement, surveying the area as if one might a battlefield or a moat full of sharks. "Though, it is dreadfully crowded."

"Popularity must be such a curse," Isabella teased, which thankfully eased some of the tension in Edward's frame.

Edward turned his attention from the room back to Isabella, and started. Rid of her outer layer, Isabella realized that this was the first time that Edward had truly laid eyes upon her costume. His reaction did not disappoint, his jaw going slack and expression changing from its normal haughty indifference to awe. Isabella was not a vain woman, but she preened under the attention.

"Is everything alright?" she asked with faux innocence, batting her lashes through the slits in her mask. Normally she was not so openly flirtatious, but this party gave her excuse to let down her walls and inhibitions. No one expected her to be the queen tonight. No one expected her to play the doting wife. No one would suspect a thing, not in a room full of strangers with a mask to protect her and a handsome stranger to guide her way.

"I do believe that I have died and gone to heaven, for an angel graces me this evening," Edward finally found the means to speak, green eyes taking in every detail greedily. "Though, I was under the assumption that angels wore white."

"Perhaps I am no angel at all. Perhaps you have fallen into Hell and I am a demoness come to steal your soul," Isabella replied coyly, stepping into Edward's space. The room was so packed that no one could say she was acting indecently - scandalous cut of her dress aside.

"All the more accurate, I am afraid," Edward replied gravely, his voice gravelly as he took Isabella by the waist, careful not to lay a finger on her exposed skin. He leaned in so that his lips brushed against her ear. "Would you care to dance?"

Isabella felt her breath catch and she nodded, not able to trust herself with words.

They were able to squeeze themselves on to the dance floor before the band started up again. It was a slow waltz, this song. Perfect for a couple who had never before danced in each other's arms. Not that they needed practice - no, both were naturals of the art of dance. It amazed Isabella just how fluid and graceful Edward was. She felt like she was floating, and the rest of the room melted away.

"Something is troubling you," Edward noticed, every vigilant. Isabella was finding that there was very little she could slip by him. Nothing, save for her true identity.

"It is just..." Isabella trailed off, thinking of how to put this gently. "You seem so bewildered by everything. Everything has given you cause to pause. And Emmett's surname is Hastings, yours Masen."

She prayed that he would pick up on her unspoken meaning as he was so apt to do.

"Our upbringing in Volterra was...unorthodox. Because of it, we have never been close." Edward's eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed as though he was reminded of something unsavory. "Emmett and I took our mothers' names. That is why they differ."

Isabella could not help herself. "Why?"

"Our father was a bit of a bastard," Edward replied, and though Isabella could tell he was aiming for a humorous reprieve, the delivery fell flat once she saw the tension that lined those expressive green eyes.

"I apologize for prying," Isabella remedied, chastising herself for peeling back old wounds that clearly had not healed. "You do not owe me any answers, especially not to questions so deeply personal."

"You need never apologize to me, Alice."

Isabella chanced a glance up and found that Edward was not mad as she expected. He might have been a little gloomy, but his edges had softened and he was looking down at her with nothing but care.

The atmosphere around them changed, charged with some indescribable urge for Isabella to lean up on her tip toes and kiss him. It was a strong urge, one that consumed her like a wild fire. The intention in Edward's eyes also spoke the same story, green irises flashing behind a mask of black.

"Ah, there he is! The man of the hour arrived at last!"

A man's exclamation startled Isabella so badly she jumped. Large hands came down to clap upon Edward's shoulders, shaking his entire body with the force of the gesture. The interruption ruined the moment, and the intruder pulled them both from the edge of the dance floor back amongst the guests. Edward seemed annoyed, but took the man's brash impulse in stride, embracing him. Stood next to Edward, this man was a mountain: tall, broad, and muscular, but well groomed and dressed. There was an air about him that spoke of money and power, but a subtler one which spoke of humble beginnings.

There was only one person who fit those things but also who Edward allowed to touch him with a familiarity that not even his companion, Jasper, was allowed.

"You look well, Emmett," Edward commented, his tone crisp and even.

"I feel well. What man would not be satisfied with such revelries around him?" Emmett boasted, flashing a winning smile Isabella's way. "Tell me, dear brother, who is this delightful creature on your arm?"

"Alice Brandon, Milord," Isabella replied, dipping into a flawless curtsey. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Emmett turned quickly to his brother, impressed, before engaging Isabella once more. "And where, oh where, did this rake of a fellow manage to ensnare a beauty such as yours?"

It was evident that Emmett was teasing Edward mercilessly as siblings were want to do, but that did not stop a flush from creeping up Isabella's cheeks at the implications of the words. It also did not stop the tension from returning to Edward's frame, this time much more hostile.

"Now now, my love, what have I told you about women? We require a delicate touch." The woman who came up behind Emmett and placed a soothing hand upon his chest was tall and lithe, her hair the color of wheat and done up into a design so elaborate Isabella lost track of where the braids started and ended. She was beauty incarnate, and Isabella found it hard to think in her presence.

"Delicacy is _your_ specialty, my dear," Emmett replied good-naturedly, his smile soft around the edges. It was an amusing look for someone so enormous. Only after a few moments of infatuation that they both remembered their company. "May I introduce you both to my wife, the lovely Lady Rosalie."

"Charmed," Rosalie greeted with a blinding smile, and all Isabella could do was smile and nod deftly back. She was still distracted by the lady's beauty.

Blessedly, Edward remembered his manners and took the lady's hand in a kiss which Rosalie accepted graciously.

"Any woman who dares take my brother upon herself is a woman to be lauded," Edward complimented. That seemed to be the right move, as Rosalie straightened her shoulders with pride, beaming up at her husband fondly.

"This man has made me the happiest woman in all of Forks. For that, I shall gladly accept the burden of his beastly manners," Rosalie teased as Emmett frowned. They were so easy with each other, so evidently in love that Isabella found herself longing for something like that to call her own. "He has spoken only the highest of you, Mister Masen. It was a shame that we had to leave the first night of the Twelve Night's Masquerade so early, or we could have been better acquainted."

"Yes, a shame. And call me Edward, please," Edward insisted, his eyebrows arched with fascination, as if he could not fathom the idea of being thought highly of by his brother. "We are family after all."

"Edward it is," Rosalie agreed. "Then you must call me Rose. Only my mother calls me Rosalie, and that is when she is very cross. This one only does it because he knows how it vexes me so."

Emmett looked as guilty as the cat who swallowed the canary, his palms spread in surrender.

In the silence, Isabella had time to be struck by how different the two brothers were. Physically, they did not share many similarities. The same sloping of the nose, the same cheshire grin, perhaps. But Emmett was dark of hair and eye, while Edward was much fairer. Then there was the difference of build, compiled with the egregious difference in personalities. Their mothers must have been as different as night and day.

"You two should go ahead and chat. Catch up on lost time," Rose suggested as the silence drew, shooing her husband and brother-in-law away. "Let the ladies talk about what ladies do."

"If you insist, my dear," Emmett conceded, not that he needed much convincing. All men, it seemed, were convinced that all women did was sit around and chitter about dresses and stockings and shoes. And while truthfully that was roughly a quarter of all conversation, women were capable of other topics of conversation.

They were also capable of great perception.

"Come," Rose insisted, dragging Isabella away from her chaperone. She was loathe to leave Edward, and he looked loathe to leave her. Still, her fine breeding insisted that she comply with the fellow lady's request. "You must tell me all about Edward. And in turn, I can share the most scandalous stories of Emmett."

"Watch it woman," Emmett warned, though there was no heat in his tone. "I'll not have you scaring off our guests."

"But my love, it is you who would be doing the scaring," she parried, their back and forth as natural as breathing.

They turned their backs to their male companions and wound their way down the long, narrow hall to the back of the home. The further they strayed from the foyer and great room, the less crowded it became. It was almost breathable by the time they reached a fairly unoccupied sitting area. An odd assortment of guests had taken up in this room, an elderly couple resting their joints by the grand fireplace, another gentleman smoking a cigar by the window. There was an unspoken air of privacy to the place that simultaneously calmed and panicked Isabella.

Rose steered them to a pair of chairs tucked away in the corner. There, they were cloaked in shadows, the embers from the fireplace casting warm light in odd shapes over both their faces. Rose offered Isabella tea from the pot on the table, but Isabella declined. Her stomach was churning with anticipation of what this was all about.

"That is a fine mask, Alice," Rose complimented, reaching out to trace the planes of cut glass. "Do you mind if I?"

"I would prefer to keep it on, if you do not mind."

"Of course, of course," Rose replied, removing her fingers at once. "Forgive my boldness. I have not seen Volterran craftsmanship this exquisite in a long time."

"You are familiar with the make?"

"Very," Rose confirmed, her violet eyes piercing Isabella's. "You see, I am Volterran myself. My family escaped the war when I was very young, but what they managed to keep they made sure to teach me so that I never forgot my heritage. My father used to blow Volterran glass; it was his trade as it was his father's before him. I suppose, had I been born male, I would have followed suit. Your mask reminds me of his work."

"It was a gift, from Edward," Isabella replied, unsure of what else to say to such a story.

"A generous gift," Rose hummed, impressed. "He must truly care for you to give you something like that."

"Oh, I am not so sure," Isabella denied, trying her best to remain casual. "Infatuation, perhaps, but we have not known each other for very long, not nearly long enough for any substantial affection."

"I do not think you believe the words you speak, Alice," Rose said as she smirked, though it was not mean-spirited. It was simply an honest observation, and Isabella could not fault the woman for having eyes. "Why deny your heart?"

"Because my heart is a treacherous creature and I cannot trust it," Isabella replied ruefully. She turned her attention to the fire, staring into the crackling flames. The elderly couple had fallen into a doze, the man snoring lightly as his head tipped back against the printed fabric of the high-backed chair, his wife's head resting upon his shoulder. It was a sweet sight. To grow old with someone like that...a dream.

"All hearts are prone to folly. What makes yours any different?"

"My heart is already bound to another."

The confession was made easily. For some reason, it was easy to talk to Rose. Isabella accredited it to her pleasing persona. The woman was so calm, free of judgement.

"You think you are the first to find yourself in such a predicament?" Rose asked, her perfectly-shaped brow arched in a challenge. "My dear Alice, you are hardly the only married woman to have her head swayed. Why, I was betrothed to another when I met Emmett."

"Truly?"

"Indeed," Rosalie replied gravely, her eyes full of something dark and heavy. "It was not my choice. Royce was not a good man, but the right man. A safe choice with enough money to pull me out of poverty. It was serendipitous that we even crossed paths and I was able to turn his head. Father used to say that it was a blessing I was born pretty, for without that I would have truly been doomed. Perhaps there is some truth to it. This world is kinder to pretty girls, would you not agree Alice, seeing as though you are a pretty girl yourself?"

"I thank you for the compliment, but I am not sure I agree with your stance," Isabella said. "Looks may provide a lady with more opportunity for social advancement, but the world is hardly kind."

"You are wise, Alice," Rose nodded, seemingly in agreement. "Kind was not the right word. Royce was hardly kind to me."

"How does Emmett fit in this mess?"

"He saved me," she confessed, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Royce had gathered some of his friends for a night at the tavern. It was my misfortune that I stumbled across their drunken selves on my way home from the market. The way Royce touched me, the way he let them all leer, it chilled me to my core. Royce had just managed to get hold of my arm when Emmett started shouting. He had been staying in the inn across the way and heard the commotion - told them all to let me be lest he thrash them. Royce did not take well to that."

"No man ever does," Isabella commented, caught up in the story even as grim as it was.

"Royce threw the first punch, but Emmett delivered the others. It all happened so fast, I could barely see, but by the time I was brave enough to open my eyes I was stood in a circle of unconscious men and Emmett's knuckles were split and bloodied. You may think it violent and repulsive, but in that moment I was not afraid. I took Emmett back to my house and stitched him up. The rest is history," Rose finished. Isabella had never been more grateful for a story to have a happy ending. Still, Rose looked haunted. "I shudder to think what would have become of me had he not been there that night."

"And you never have to," Isabella comforted, casting a glance around their marvelous lodgings. "Emmett seems to have provided quite well for you."

"Yes, he has," Rose agreed, now her turn to admire the room. "It has always astounded me how much the King's favor can afford."

"The King's favor?"

"Yes," Rose explained, cocking her head as if it were strange that Isabella were not privy to this piece of information. "Emmett is employed by the King in matters most private. He barely tells me anything about his work, just that it is important and that the king values him very much."

 _Matters most private.._.oh how sinister that sounded! What could her husband's intentions possibly be? Perhaps Rose was simply mistaken or exaggerating as women were want to when impressing new friends. To have such a roguish husband could prove even more attractive and gossip-worthy. But Rose did not seem like the type to lie. Then again, the king did not seem the type to keep secrets.

Isabella must have been lost in thought for too long, for Rose was gazing upon her with curious concern.

"You were not aware? I assumed that Edward was in the same line of work - at least, that is what Emmett has told me."

"I...I do not know..." Isabella stammered, suddenly overwhelmed. "There is suddenly so much I do not know about my companion."

Not just the companion lost in these halls, but the one she left behind at the palace. Until this very moment, she had not thought her husband capable of such deception - thought him too simple and careless to bother. But now...with secret men in his alleged tenure...things were very uncertain indeed.

"It is as you said earlier: you have not known each other long. There has hardly been time to discuss the boring details of occupation when there is a ball to keep you both entertained."

"Yes, yes of course," Isabella nodded rapidly, willing that to be the truth even as the solid stone of doubt settled in her stomach. There would be much to discuss with her husband when she saw him next.

"I say we have had enough of this grave conversation," Rose decreed, standing and smoothing down her skirt. It was just as beautiful as the rest of her - a navy silk scattered with tiny diamonds as if to imitate the night sky. "Come, let us rejoin the festivities. I think a dance or two would do our spirits well."

"A marvelous idea," Isabella agreed, grateful for a distraction. She took Rose's arm and let the woman guide her back to the front of the house.


	17. Night Eight Part Two

Night Eight Part Two: Edward

Edward was loathe to leave Alice in the hands of a stranger, but he had no choice. Not with the way Emmett was pulling on him with the strength of a grizzly. Edward had to assure himself that Rose was harmless, that she was not a danger. In the few moments he had with the woman, Edward assessed her as a minimal threat - merely another spoiled housewife. The most Alice would have to endure is an hour or so of menial chit chat and then the pair could go back to dancing the night away.

Edward could not shake the feeling of her body in his arms, so lithe and warm and full of grace. So very alive as the moved across the dance floor. Was it his imagine, or was the air charged with electricity the moment before they were so rudely separated? He liked to believe it was not his starved imagination. It was nice to be wanted in a way he had refused to open himself to for so long and by a woman unlike any other he had encountered before.

How easy, he mused, it was to get distracted by her. Edward was so caught up in his thoughts that he had not been paying attention to where he was headed. Emmett could have been leading him to the back alley to place a bullet in his head for all he knew.

Instead, Emmett steered him into a private room furnished with a large desk and lined with bookshelves. A fire crackled in the hearth, two great chairs facing the flames. Immediately, Edward made note of all points of entry and exit: the main door, the large window on the far wall, the concealed servant's escape behind the drapes -

"Trying to find where I have hidden the poison?" Emmett asked casually, shutting the study doors and striding over to a tray of liquors housed in elegant crystal. "Everyone knows it is stored next to the whiskey. That way you may operate under the pretense of pouring your intended victim a drink without them ever knowing the wiser."

A glass was passed Edward's way. He was wary of taking a sip after such a quip, but to not do so would be an act of weakness. Edward refused to yield to his brother and his games.

"Ah yes, I must have missed that lesson."

The liquor was bitter and burned all the way down. For all he put on airs, Emmett had ghastly taste.

"You never did possess the necessary virtues for true undercover work: patience, diligence, subtlety. It was always right to the killing," Emmett lamented, swallowing his glass with barely a wince. "Put a puzzle in front of you and you were lost, but place a knife in your hands and you could turn killing into an art form."

"I remember you fainting at the sight of blood when we were boys," Edward hummed, his remark meant to embarrass, but Emmett was no so easily moved. He only grinned wolfishly. "But look at you now: wealthy, titled. Rose must have come from quite a fine family."

"Ah, but you are mistaken, dear brother. All that you see is mine and mine alone."

Emmett's shoulders ruffled with pride at the mention. Edward's brow only arched. He found it very suspicious that someone as poor as a Volterran soldier could climb their way through rank and social circles so quickly. It simply was not done.

"Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you. Your tales always did tend to run on the taller side."

"No offense taken," Emmett assured, completely relaxed with his hip cant against the mahogany of the fine bookcase. "You see, I was blessed enough to find employment with the crown."

"Is that so?" Edward could not stop himself from smirking. "Running the king's errands and playing his fool pays so well?"

"This king, he is not as doltish as he appears," Emmett replied, to which Edward only snorted. Emmett reached over to pour Edward more whiskey, his gaze never leaving the amber liquid as he continued, "He does take up intellectual pursuits, particularly those that pertain to war. You see, which was why His Majesty was quite eager to learn of the infiltration of two Volterran spies in his court."

Edward was prepared to laugh, expecting something ridiculous. Instead, the words sunk in like a slow poison. Edward had to check his glass to make sure that it indeed was not an elixir of bane his brother had given him, but indeed, that he had heard Emmett correctly.

The King of Forks knew he was a spy. This whole time...

The implications were astounding.

And he thought he had been doing so well.

"Give me one good reason I should not kill you where you stand."

Edward was not entirely sure he was not spitting. His brother was always scum: a runaway, a deserter. But a full blooded turncoat? To go and sell one's own allegiance for fancy clothes and a title? That was beyond low. There were special circles in hell for people like Emmett, and Edward wanted nothing more in that moment than to send his brother there as painfully and swiftly as possible.

"Ah, you do not want to kill me, dear brother. Not here, not now."

All the blood drained from Edward's face. His heart beat harder in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him alongside the urge to slit his brother's throat. There were three objects within reach that would do the job, but then there was the challenge of hiding the body in a crowded townhouse, removing the bloodstains, the suspicion of the lord's disappearance...

He was simply too much of a public figure to touch.

The smugly satisfied look on Emmett's face almost made the risks worth it. Almost.

"Come now, Edward. You know as well as I that we are nothing but pawns in this great game of kings," Emmett chided, no part of him intimidated by threat of violence. "Or have you deluded yourself into believing that Aro will finally make you into something more?"

"This king you serve seems to have treated you well. Why should Aro not repay me in turn for returning the head of a traitor?"

"Because Aro is a dying old fool who knows his time is short. His greed and the greed of his brothers is what sent Volterra into civil war, and yet you think he would spare any expense on you? A landless, nameless bastard?"

"I am not a bastard," Edward spat. "I stayed by father's side while you ran away like a frightened pup, tail between your legs!"

"Father is just as much a fool as the king he serves," Emmett countered, finally rising to match Edward's cold fury. "We could argue for days about who is the worser king, but I have come to know the truth, dear brother, and that is that all kings are terrible kings. The only way to stay ahead of their destruction is to stick with the stronger player. It is chess."

There was a logic to Emmett's words that Edward did not want to believe. So, he focused on what remained.

"The king knows - why tell me at all? Why not let him toy with me like a cat with a mouse?" Edward demanded. Emmett was never so generous with his information, even less so now that Edward was seeing this new side of him. He could not trust anything his brother did or said. Never again.

"As I said: this is chess. I do not play for kings; I play for myself. Best to keep both sides of the board open," Emmett explained simply, as if this were an elementary concept. "Perhaps in your single-minded blood lust you missed that lesson as well."

Perhaps Edward had missed many lessons indeed. It seemed as though his brother was certainly doing his damndest to give Edward a speedy education.

"Come, let us rejoin the party. I did not mean to ruin the night with talk of such...dire things," Emmett apologized, meaning none of it. Everything was always so backhanded with him, it seemed. Edward hated it even if he was impressed by it.

Emmett's hand between his shoulder blades as he steered them back to the foyer was an unwelcome weight. Edward fought the urge to turn and twist the offending wrist. But that would be uncivil, and to these judgmental aristocrats he could appear to be nothing other than a gentleman. It was a terrible guise, one he cursed himself for casting upon himself when he wanted to castrate his brother more and more by the second.

They paused at the mouth of the foyer. Around them, partygoers flounced and twittered about in their vapid circles, gossiping about duchess' dresses or the fortunate looks of the wait staff. So much lust and corruption, greed and sloth. Vices spun round the room quicker than virtues, and Edward wondered just how many of them had hands red as his stashed underneath silk gloves.

The crowd parted in just the right way so that black feathers peeked out above the rows of head.

Alice.

Edward was drawn to her like a thirsting man to water. Unlike everyone else, she radiated peace and serenity. Even Rose on her arm did not bring him solace as Alice did. Relief must have drawn itself plain on his face, his brother's eyes following his own.

"I was not being crass earlier. She really is the most exquisite creature," Emmett said conversationally, his gaze falling upon Alice with curiosity. "A kitchen girl, you say?"

"Yes."

"Hmmmmm," Emmett hummed, and Edward knew that his brother was reading deeper into things. "A pity. She has all the breeding and inclination of a fine lady. Would almost make a man wonder..."

"Wonder what?" Edward snapped, unable to stop himself when his brother was going after Alice in a way that made his skin prickle.

"Wonder if there is more to the story than what appears on the surface." It was innocent enough, the words that played across Emmett's tongue, but it was his tone sat heavily on Edward's heart and mind.

"Alice has no part of this," Edward defended. Alice was innocent. Alice was pure. Alice was a simple kitchen maid. That much he knew as fact, and nothing Emmett said would make Edward doubt that.

Emmett tutted, as if Edward were a naive child who needed scolding. "There are spies everywhere, dear brother. I am not the only one who knows your secrets, as you are not the only who know mine. Remember this, the next time you call for my blood."

As loathe as he was to admit it, Emmett had potentially saved Edward. Now that he was aware of the dangers that surrounded him, he could plan contingencies. There was no saying if this was a pre-meditated confession upon King Jacob's orders; Emmett could be setting him up to fail. But Emmett had always first and foremost been a selfish bastard. Edward was inclined to believe his motives of working for his own interests. The only thing left to question was how long Emmett's motives and Edward's remained aligned.

"Please, enjoy the rest of the party," Emmett said in parting, a jovial smile returned to his face, as if the past conversation and all its unpleasantness had never occurred.

Edward did not reply. There was nothing else to say. Emmett retrieved his wife from Alice's side and embraced her with a passionate kiss, one that made Alice flush a bright red and forced her to look away. Edward would have averted his eyes from the scene had they not been rapt upon Alice and the way her cheeks were now the most enticing shade of pink.

Then he remembered that he was no longer bound by social niceties and could rejoin Alice at his leisure. He wasted no more time standing across the room.

"Ah, there you are," Alice sighed, Emmett and Rose finally gone from her side. Edward was immensely grateful for their absence. Without his brother around, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders and an ease return to his step. "I hope you were not too bored without my company."

"Everything is drearier without you around, Miss Alice," Edward teased, slowly but surely regaining his usual swagger. It was a far cry from where he started at the beginning of the night, still too shaken to muster up that level of bravado, but a valiant effort nonetheless.

Alice's flush deepened, and her smile was small and coy. "I believe we were in the middle of a dance before we were so rudely interrupted."

Yes, dancing. That he could do. Dancing was mindless, muscle memory, and Edward's body never failed him.

Edward smiled graciously, took Alice's hand, and led her back onto the dance floor. The way they resumed their embrace felt like no time had passed. The orchestra was even playing the same notes as before, their set on loop.

"You look troubled," Alice noted, distress in her tone. "You are shaking."

Was he? Edward had not noticed. Damn it all, he needed to get a hold of his emotions. He was already compromised with the king; to go flying off the handle and draw more attention to the situation would only further dig his grave.

"Emmett delivered some...unexpected news," Edward said vaguely.

"Bad news?"

"Nothing I cannot handle," Edward assured, even though he did not quite believe it himself. He had found himself in tighter spots than this over the years. No matter what happened, he would escape with his life. What he worried about now was Alice's life. He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Nothing you need worry about."

Only four more nights. Four more nights and this would all be over. And then, if he were lucky, a better series of events could unfold - events that hopefully included Alice and a land far from Forks.

"You keep pushing me away. I want you to trust me," Alice said, those dark eyes pleading. They were hard to resist, but Edward must if he were to maintain his cover. He could not afford to trust, not at this moment, not even if he wanted to. Not when Emmett's warnings about hidden stories and spies rattled through his brain.

"You should not give me such trust," Edward replied, willing her to understand.

"You have given me no reason not to."

"I am a stranger, Miss Alice. You hardly know me."

Those seemed to be the wrong words. Alice's face crumpled and turned introspective. She stopped talking, lost in thought and appearing just as troubled as Edward himself was. What had Rosalie said to her? Had she sowed the seeds of mistrust as well? Or was this just Edward's callous nature to blame?

Then, the grandfather clock struck midnight, a cacophony of clanging metal echoing throughout the house. All around them, guests started cheering and shouting, removing their masks and embracing their partners.

Edward had forgotten about this part of the masquerade, always conveniently slipping out of the ball before the festivities closing. The ball would end with the revelation of identity so that lovers old and new could see the face of their chosen paramour. Edward was hoping that Emmett would have done without it, the displays of affection gross and over exaggerated, but this was not the case.

One look at Alice told Edward that she had forgotten about the unmasking as well. Edward did not want to do anything that would cause her discomfort, but for the first time, he had a partner to partake upon this certain tradition. Perhaps she did not wish to be seen, but in this overpopulated space, they were nothing more than two faces in a crowd. And though she seemed skittish, there was a longing in her eye that mimicked Edward's own.

This night had been fraught with too many secrets. It was past time to return to the light.

"Tradition is tradition," Edward said.

Alice trembled under Edward's fingers as he reached into those impossibly soft curls to find the silk ribbons that held the mask in place. Slowly, so slowly, he tugged the knots loose until the mask came off. Alice's lashes fluttered over her cheeks, her eyes downcast until Edward turned her chin up. Her breath caught, and she went to remove his mask in turn, no barriers between them.

This night had been fraught with too many secrets. It was past time to return to the light.

And what a light Alice cast when she smiled. Dear God, it lit up the darkest places of his soul, set it aflame so that no part of him did not burn with passion. Edward had never wanted something as much as he wanted her.

Never loved something as much as he loved her.

The revelation hit him like a punch to the stomach, sucking all the air from his lungs. Everything in his world suddenly rearranged itself, the strange behaviors he cursed this past week coming into startling clarity.

He loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her, _by God in heaven did he love her_ -

Then his lips were on hers and they were kissing like they needed each other to breathe, to live. It was intoxicating. She tasted like lavender and honey and every sweet thing this world had deprived him of. Her hair was pillow soft and her skin fever-hot where he touched her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She pressed into him with a whimper, going boneless in his arms as he held onto her for dear life.

She was everything. He loved her.

In that moment, his intentions were clear. He knew what he had to do.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she pulled away, her voice oh so quiet and tender.

Edward smiled. "Chess."

Yes, he could play this game of kings, and he would play to win.


	18. Day Nine Part One

A/N: This day and night are going to be two-parts just because so much is happening. Thank you loves so much for being incredible readers! Hope you enjoy! XOXOX

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Day Nine Part One: Edward

Dawn broke far too early for Edward's liking, drawing him out of the measly hour or two of sleep he had managed to steal.

It had been well into the early morning before he had returned to the modest town home that he and Jasper were renting. The stairs creaked and groaned to the sound of his heavy steps as they carried him to bed. It was a miracle Jasper had not heard the ruckus, though Edward was hardly in a position to complain. He was grateful Jasper had not ruined the night, had not spoiled this one good memory.

Wind blew through the open window, and Edward reached to pull on his jacket before he realized that he no longer had one, though the realization did not bring him anger. Instead, Edward smiled into his pillow.

The walk back had turned frosty, Alice drawing her shawl closer to her slender shoulders to keep out the cold. It was a simple choice to sacrifice his own warmth to grant Alice hers. The large jacket had swallowed her slender figure, and though it ought to have been ridiculous, Edward felt his heart skip at the sight. In this tiny way, Edward had laid his claim on Alice, and the primal part of his beastly conscience was deeply satisfied.

And the way Alice looked upon saying goodbye: her hair mused from the wind and exertion of dancing, her eyes tired but sparkling, the way that dress hugged her body in all the right places...it was enough to tempt even a saint. It was so hard to part from her, especially after he knew what it was like to kiss her. If Alice had not been so adamant about propriety, he would have kept her with him.

Perhaps he would have taken her to his bed. Perhaps he would have wrapped her in these scratchy, woolen sheets and his arms and never let go.

Or perhaps this was all the lingerings of a very good dream. That would certainly explain why Edward woke up sweating despite the breeze and half-hard.

His fingers were tempted, playing with the laces to his breeches as he thought about his Alice. He thought about her lips - so red and plush and addictive, her doe eyes, the way her dress revealed a vast expanse of milky white skin. Edward gripped himself and pretended he was touching Alice instead. Alice's skin would be soft, he knew, but also smooth. Warm, but not too hot. Not until he placed his lips there, _everywhere_ , and that gorgeous skin flushed red and heated. She would sign into his embrace, melt in his arms, and let his lips, teeth, and tongue wander. Then, she would beg him - not with words, but with her eyes - to take her to bed, and he would happily oblige. There, he would strip her down, revealing inch by excruciating inch the rest of her. The dip of her clavicle, the flat of her sternum, the swell of her breasts -

Edward groaned as he spilled into his hand, sticky and wet. He cursed himself and threw the sheets back, forcing himself out of bed.

There was a pail of fresh water sitting outside the windowsill. Edward pulled it inside, placed it on the ground, and pushed his head into it. The cold was immediate, tiny pinpricks of pain erupting over his face as the frigid water brought him thoroughly to his senses. Edward kept his head under for as long as he could stand to hold his breath before coming up for air. He was gasping, cold, and wet, but at least the uncomfortable heat of arousal had vanished.

He pushed his wet curls out of his face and discarded the soaked shirt. Briefly, he caught his reflection in the tiny mirror on the wall. Years' worth of scars littered his arms and torso, so many that he could hardly keep track of what caused what. One of the more prominent ones - a large, diagonal line that cut up his right breast - came to mind. He got it practicing swordplay with Emmett, the only scar he received as a complete accident, and the only one bandaged with care. The other scars on his body were ragged and angry, but not this one. Emmett had sat by Edward's bedside and placed stitch by meticulous stitch, making sure the wound would heal nicely, as if atoning for harming the one he cared for most.

Emmett...that brought back a whole slew of terrible memories. The old scar throbbed and Edward winced. Oh, how the times had changed.

Edward turned away from the mirror and opened his wardrobe in search of a shirt. He had a few from which to choose, pulling on a black ensemble for the day. Briefly, Edward considered hiding a blade or two up his sleeves in case Jasper tried to murder him before deciding against it. He tucked a blade into his boot instead. Much more practical. Once he deemed himself presentable, and clear of any signs of earlier distress that Jasper could pick at, he descended the stairs.

Jasper sat at the dining table in the living space of their humble abode, the man's back ram-rod straight with his gaze focused into the mug of steaming black coffee in front of him. Jasper was hardly pleasant to be around most times, but mornings were particularly hellish. Now, with such a dark grimace plastered across that alabaster face, Edward knew that this morning would be even more hellish than usual.

And that was not even counting the _wonderful_ news Edward had to bestow.

"You look like hell," Edward commented, a bold move on his part, he knew, but it was far better than choking on tension.

"Where have you been?" Jasper snapped in reply, not even bothering to look Edward's way.

"I took the night off, as I told you."

Jasper sneered, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "Yes, well while you were off galavanting God-knows where, I was at the ball. And do you happen to know what occurred?"

"I am not a mind-reader," Edward said drolly, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the steaming pot on the stove and sitting down across from his prickly partner.

"The Queen did not attend."

Ah, there it was. The true object of Jasper's ire. He always worked himself up in this manner when bumps appeared on the path to executing his plan.

Edward leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "And how, pray tell, is this my fault?"

"We have lost precious time! There are only three more nights to procure the heart, and you were off squandering one we could have used to implement our trap!" Jasper accused, the look on his face positively murderous. The man really did not know when to relax, and it was grating on Edward's nerves. "As of late have begun to question your commitment to the cause."

"May I remind you once more that _my_ part of this grand scheme relies fully on _your_ ability to woo the queen. Until then, I can do nothing, and so I will bide my time however I wish," Edward replied darkly, coming to the end of his tolerance for such slander. "Do not question me about loyalty again. I have given up just as much as you to be here. I will not fail."

"Words. That is all you have. Show me actions and I may be convinced."

"I should not have to convince you of anything," Edward shot back, now properly offended. "I am not your enemy."

"Then tell me who is."

"The king," Edward said, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the inevitable fallout. "He knows what we are, where we're from."

A myriad of emotion's crossed Jasper's face: shock, disbelief, fear, but anger most of all. A bone-deep, all-consuming rage that focused on Edward and Edward alone.

Jasper shot up from his seat, his chair flying back from the table, and roared, "You've compromised us!"

It was as if Edward had unleashed a wild tiger, Jasper prowling the room, circling Edward as if deciding when and where would be the best time to strike. Which places would cause most pain, the most satisfaction to hear torn to shreds.

"From what I could gather, we have been compromised from the start," Edward tried to appease, though that hardly made their situation better. For once, Jasper's anger was well-founded.

"And who did you learn this from?"

"Emmett," Edward said, the name like poison in his tongue, the betrayal still fresh and uncomfortably painful. "I went to his estate last night, and he confronted me in his office."

"And you did not end him where he stood?" Jasper asked, accusation dripping from his every word.

"Believe me, I wanted to," Edward swore, thinking back on all the threats made that evening. "But Emmett is too high profile a person to kill. There would be questions, especially if I murdered him in his own home with a hundred of his guests down the hall."

Jasper wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I did not take you to be so spineless."

"Are you saying I should have pursued a suicide mission?"

"I am saying that ever since that kitchen girl stepped into your path, you have been messy! Mistake after mistake! Asking for time off, letting your guard down, letting your brother play you, letting the king close when obviously you should have sussed out that he was onto you!" Jasper rattled off, letting his rage consume him as he paced the floor, his volume so loud it echoed. "How do I know you are competent? How do I even know you speak the truth? Was this whore even giving you information, or was that all a lie so you could have an excuse to fuck her!"

"You will not speak about Alice that way!" Edward roared.

That was a mistake. He should have remained silent. He should have taken the abuse. He should have done anything other than exposed his heart.

In a second, Jasper had Edward pinned against the wall, a knife pressed against his jugular.

"You have jeopardized this mission. Everything Aro has strived for hangs in the balance. Do you understand that?" Jasper demanded, thrusting the knife further under Edward's chin until he could feel the cool bite of the metal pressed against his skin.

"You will remove all distractions from your sight. You will commit yourself to this cause, body and soul. Do you hear me?" Jasper waited until Edward nodded his head to remove the blade, shaking him for good measure as Jasper added, "And you will end whatever insipid infatuation is consuming your attention. Immediately. If not, I will slit the whore's throat myself."

It was not a threat. It was a promise. That was the only reason Edward kept his mouth firmly shut.

"We are moving forward with the plan," Jasper said, pulling his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back until he appeared as though he had some semblance of control. Edward still thought Jasper looked wild, and that made him dangerous. "I want that heart tonight. I shall send correspondence to Aro letting him know we will be back in Volterra by the following evening. Pray I do not have you dragged into court by your ear and hanged for treason."

More empty threats. Edward had heard them all by now; they did not shake him. No, what shook him was what he had to do to Alice.

He had to break her heart, and unfortunately his own in the process.


	19. Day Nine Part Two

A/N: Hello loves! Did you pick up on Edward's "I'm not a mind reader" line last chapter? I couldn't resist. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this update! It is rather angsty...XOXOX

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Day Nine Part Two: Isabella

Morning came to the palace far too soon for Isabella's liking.

"Finally," Alice sighed as she pulled open the curtains. She seemed tense, unlike her usual chipper self. "I thought you would never wake."

"You could have roused me sooner," Isabella replied, shaking off the haze of sleep. She had to raise a hand to ward off the assault of sunlight streaming through the widows. Judging by how powerful they were, she must have been asleep for quite some time.

"I tried," Alice replied in a tired tone that suggested that many attempts had been made to no avail. "You are lucky that your social calls were empty this morning."

"Lucky..." Isabella repeated drowsily, burrowing back down into the blankets.

There was a different material that surrounded her shoulders, one that was warmer and stronger than the silk of sheets and smelled of sweat, cologne, and tobacco smoke. Isabella pulled on the material and found that it was not sheets at all, but a jacket. A black men's jacket.

Confusion came first, and Isabella was prepared to ask Alice where the hell she had gotten a men's jacket when memories from the night before came trickling back.

Oh.

So it was not all a dream as she had thought. That brought a smile to her face and a blush to her cheeks. Suddenly, the morning was so much better.

Isabella got up from bed and shrugged out of the jacket. Immediately, the morning chill raised thousands of tiny bumps along her bare arms. Apparently she had no energy to change at all last night, falling asleep as the black swan.

"And what would you like me to do with this?" Alice asked, gesturing to the jacket.

"Have it cleaned and pressed, please," Isabella requested. Yes, she would take care of this particular garment. It was from someone special, after all.

Alice huffed as she snatched the garment and stowed it amongst the dirty linens in the hamper by the door. There was no gentleness in her motions, throwing the jacket away as if it had personally offended her.

Isabella tried to place the source of Alice's bad mood. Normally, when Alice was this peeved, it had to do with other members of the staff disrupting the natural working order. Or, it had to do with Isabella herself, but she had not been around to provide a source of vexation...unless Alice was upset about Isabella's inability to rise with the sun, which had never bothered Alice before. No...it had to be something else...

Another look around the room and -

Ah. There it was.

The gunmetal bustle still lied unwrinkled over the chaise, the chains of pearls so meticulously chosen still sat untouched on the vanity, and the black dancing shoes looked hardly broken in. The picture came into clarity.

"You did not go to the ball."

"How could I? I spent the whole night worrying about you," Alice said defensively, a hint of worry still laced in her rant. "What you did was risky, My Lady. Far too risky. Anyone could have seen you, especially since you came home with your mask off! Just what were you thinking?"

"I was not thinking, Alice. That was the problem."

It was the truth. Isabella was reckless last night. She revealed her face to a room full of strangers, any of whom could of recognized her had they been paying enough attention. Love made her do such silly things. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. There was more than just her on the line, and yet, Isabella could not bring herself to regret a single moment of last night.

"Yes, well, any more outings need to be on the palace grounds. If not for your safety then for my peace of mind."

"Oh Alice," Isabella sighed, reaching up to pat her maid's hand. "I promise not to shred any more of your delicate nerves. And I promise that it was not my intention to steal your night of romance."

Alice sighed, the last of her anger leeching out of her tiny frame. "I know, My Lady. I know. Now, are you getting dressed or are you planning to be a hermit today?"

"Dressed," Isabella decided, because as lovely as it sounded to hide away from the world all day, not all the memories of last night brought back feelings of sunshine and roses. Some of the memories were...concerning. Some of the memories needed to be addressed.

While Alice was brushing Isabella's hair free from tangles, Isabella had the impulse to ask, "Alice...do you think highly of the king? Do you think him a good man?"

"You know I do, My Lady."

"Do you think him capable of deception?"

"Deception? Like the kind of ruse we have been playing with the masquerade?" Alice asked, laughing a little. More than likely she thought the whole conversation a farce. "No, My Lady. I do not think the king capable of something like that. He is not that kind of man."

"Hmmm..."

They did not speak for the rest of the grooming process. Isabella picked a simple shift dress of indigo and beige, not bothering with any make up or jewels. It was too late to do anything too fancy, and Isabella hated all that pomp anyway. She studied her reflection in the mirror just once and deemed herself acceptable.

"Does my husband have any meetings or social engagements at this hour?"

"I believe His Majesty has arranged a hunting party with Sirs Quil and Embry this afternoon, though they are not scheduled to leave until later," Alice relayed the information, cocking her head inquisitively. "Would you like me to send a runner?"

"No, that will not be necessary. I shall visit him myself," Isabella replied, trying her best to smile and pretend that this was a normal, everyday call upon her husband. Except Alice knew as well as anyone that Isabella rarely called upon her husband at all. Isabella did her best to push through, her eyes begging Alice not to ask questions.

Once she got to Jacob's office, Isabella did not bother to knock. She was the only one who could get away with such an infraction of the king's privacy, and she intended to exploit that power. She barged straight into his office, bypassing the startled footman and throwing open the doors.

"My beautiful wife," Jacob greeted upon Isabella's arrival, his face breaking out into a serene smile. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He walked from his desk and his charting to escort her the rest of the way through the room, placing a kiss upon her cheek. Once Isabella was settled in one of the chairs by the window, Jacob took the chair opposite her.

"I stumbled upon some disturbing news, and I wanted your insight before assuming the worst."

"What have you heard?"

"You are going to think I am being silly..." Isabella shook her head, wondering why she was in her husband's office in the first place. Of course this was ridiculous. Of course it was...

"I never think you are silly," Jacob assured, his smile still serene and unbothered. He had no idea of what Isabella was about to accuse him.

"I did not attend the masquerade last night."

"As I noticed," Jacob commented, though he was not upset.

"I did not attend, because I was at another masquerade. Downtown. I was invited by a...friend...and so spent the night at Lord Emmett Hastings' estate."

"Ah," Jacob mused, still unbothered. In fact, he looked a little wistful. "I have heard that his parties are the envy of all. I should like to go myself, someday."

"I shall keep it in mind," Isabella replied politely, with no intention of ever following up on that particular wish of his. "But it was there I discovered that Lord Hastings works for you. Not only that, but you afford him his townhouse."

Jacob shifted in his chair, his ease becoming practiced and less natural. He cocked his head to the side, curious. "And who told you this?"

"His wife, the Lady Rose," Isabella said, trying not to fidget under Jacob's stare. "I believe the terms she used were 'employed by the king in matters most private.'"

Jacob let out a breath. "I see."

A heavy silence spread between the two of them, laden with all the unspoken truths that Isabella could now see were not just ramblings of a misinformed housewife. Having that validation, however, did not ease Isabella's nerves. Now, it felt as though she had stepped into a whole new arena, and she was vastly out of her depth.

"Jacob...you do not employ spies, do you?"

"Every good king employs spies, Isabella. It would be foolish not to," Jacob replied with a wave of his hand, as if such a question was juvenile. Obvious.

"And Emmett is yours?"

"One of them, yes," Jacob replied loftily. "He was the one who informed me of two new spies in my court. Volterrans. One of whom happens to be your lover."

Isabella choked.

"Excuse me, My Lord, but I believe you are mistaken."

"Oh come now, Isabella. Do not think me that much of a fool," Jacob scoffed, the first hint of something dark and nasty creeping its way into his pleasant demeanor. "I have eyes. I can see the way you fawn over that blond-hair, anemic foreigner. The way you follow him around, as if he is the only other person in the room. It is how I have hoped and prayed you would look at me for years. Now I have the _pleasure_ of watching it from afar."

Isabella had never taken Jacob for the jealous type. In all honesty, she thought him oblivious. Now, she saw that could not be further from the truth. Jacob's eyes flashed with something loathsome as he spoke about who Isabella assumed to be Jasper.

Ah, yes, Jacob believed that she, herself, was attending the masquerade. At least one of her secrets remained in tact.

"Spies..." she repeated, trying to reconcile what she knew in her heart to be true with what Jacob was saying. It just did not make sense. She did not want it to make sense. "B-but...that is..."

"I am sorry, my dear. Reality must be a bitter draught to swallow."

Isabella did not like how smug Jacob sounded, how satisfied he was to be the victory in this game of hearts. Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest.

"Say I believe you. Say they are spies. You were just going to let me play into their hands?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I intended to do," Jacob confirmed, not an ounce of shame nor regret in his tone. "I had to find out what they want. Whatever it is clearly has something to do with you. I had every intention of letting you carry out your little fantasy romance until I discovered their goals. Then I was going to arrest them, imprison them, and eventually behead them."

Isabella stared at him dumbly, as if he had started speaking another language. Had he truly lost his mind? Jacob almost looked mad as he surveyed his desk, running his hands covetously over the map that laid upon it.

"Volterra is a fractured kingdom governed by three petty brothers who are so close to death's door that their battles will be pointless by the time they are won," Jacob said as he paced around the map - a map of all the kingdoms of the land. The red border that divided Volterra and Forks was dotted with figurines carved with the Black family royal crest. "It needs guidance. It needs stability. It needs me."

Jacob could wax as much self-satisfying poetry as he wished. That did not disguise his intentions.

"You intend to invade Volterra?"

"Would it be an invasion if two spies cross the border and intend to orchestrate chaos in my kingdom? Or would it be considered a fair retaliation?" Jacob posed the question, completely unaffected by the notion of war. "Volterra could not fight back. Not against an organized army. Not in its current state. Victory will be swift and merciful, and by the end I will be the king of two kingdoms."

"That does not sound like you at all!" Isabella cried, wondering who had taken her naive, kind-hearted fool of a husband and replaced him with this violent creature. "Who has been pulling your strings in this matter? Who has put these ideas in your head?"

"These ideas are mine, my dear," Jacob assured, an annoyed tick twitching at his jaw. His patience for Isabella was running thin, she could tell. "You have spent so long casting me aside, painting me a fool, that you forget. I am the King of Forks. I have been raised from the day I was born to do one job: lead. And hell shall come to any that threaten my reign...or my queen."

Jacob reached to touch her, to trail the tips of his fingers across the rosy apple of Isabella's cheek, but she flinched away before he had the chance, and the remainder of any kindness in his eyes dimmed.

"You should remain here, in the palace, until further notice," Jacob said as he sat back at his desk, and though the statement was posed as a suggestion, there was no denying the order underneath. "Keep Rachel company. It means so much to me that you two get on."

"You know we cannot stand one another," Isabella replied plainly, past holding her tongue. Then, another thought came to her. "Is she one of your spies as well?"

Jacob huffed a laugh, amused by Isabella's naivety now. "I do not need to employ my sister to watch over you, my dear. She is far too eager to do it of her own accord."

Isabella let out her own disbelieving laugh before turning on her heel and leaving his office. It was not nearly as dramatic an exist as she wanted, not when Jacob had already dismissed her the moment he sat at his desk and did not even flinch as the door slammed shut. That only made Isabella more irritated. This whole time, she thought that her husband was one person, when he was really someone else.

Had she really been underestimating him this whole time?

True, she was just a girl when they were married, hardly in the right mindset to fully understand what it meant to rule. But, until this moment, the most prominent memories she had of Jacob were his unfailing attempts to woo her. All the flowers on her windowsill, all the lavish jewels, the premature shower for a child that did not even exist. All examples of his childish attempts to win Isabella over.

But as she tried to grasp for memories outside of those unwanted advances, Isabella came up short. How many meaningful conversations had she really had in these past ten years? She denied all Jacob's requests to meet in his office to the point where he stopped offering well into their first year. They ate their meals in separate rooms, spent their social hours with different circles, and she only kept him in her bed for as long as it took for her to perform her 'duty'. Isabella was invested in the welfare of the people, but her projects never coincided with his. She did not even know war was on Jacob's mind until now. There was so much about her husband and his actual government and policies that she did not know...how could she not have known?

Isabella knew the answer to that as soon as she asked it.

She had spent so long acting like a victim, that she never bothered to look outside her own rose colored window to see what her husband was doing to the kingdom. They threw lavish dinners, parties, this whole damn masquerade, and yet, that was all a front. That was for the lords and ladies who never spoke of politics or the kingdom or war. They were just as willfully oblivious as Isabella.

That made her sick, thinking about all the subjects her husband would force to fight his war while he sat in his lofty throne, never having to spill a drop of his own blood or bead of sweat.

Fresh air. She needed fresh air, or the stifling oppression of the palace walls and all their terrible secrets would suffocate her.

The guards posted on the terrace looked absolutely stricken to see their queen in such a state of disarray. However, they did their duty and remained stoic, not saying a word of how frantic Isabella looked. Not asking if she needed to see a medic or sit down. They let her pass, let her run down the stairs and into the maze of shrubs and rosebushes.

Normally the gardens brought Isabella peace, but it seemed that even their sweet perfume turned sickly in Isabella's nose this day. Still, Isabella kept winding, her feet carrying her further and further, never stopping until she was far enough away from this nightmare.

"Alice!"

She almost did not reply, the name foreign and yet, so familiar in that silky smooth baritone, and she turned around and -

Edward.

Oh, by the stars, _Edward_.

He looked rumpled, his hair curling at the ends and his shirt untucked with creases every which way. He was dressed like Death: in all black from head to toe so that the only pop of color was the pink in his cheeks and the vivid green of his eyes. Worst of all, his expression was positively miserable: dark circles under those eyes and worry lines creased in his forehead. But even with all that, he was beautiful. He was so, so beautiful.

And a liar, if Jacob could be trusted.

 _How did he always manage to find her, anyway? Truly fate could never be that serendipitous all the time..._

"I need you to tell me it is not true," Isabella begged, desperate for some shred of sanity.

Everything she knew, everything she thought she knew, was wrong. Nothing made sense. But Edward - Edward with his green eyes and pretty words and kisses that made her feel more alive than she had been her entire life...that could not be wrong. That could not be a lie.

"What is not true?" Edward asked, bewildered. "Tell me what is going on?"

"Are you a spy?" Isabella asked plainly, uncaring that there were tears standing in her eyes or that they were in a public place where anyone could overhear. "Have you been colluding with your friend to do something terrible?"

For a moment, Edward was frozen. Struck dumb with nothing but blank terror in those beautiful, heartbreaking eyes. And then, if it were even possible, his expression morphed into something even more devastating. As if Isabella had set him on fire and left him to burn.

"Tell me!"

Her voice was wild. She barely recognized it, so far from the reserved lady her mother had raised. Her fingers reached to curl in the fabric of Edward's shirt, gripping on so hard that she was sure that her nails were cutting marks into his pale skin. But she needed something to hold on to, some solid ground to hold her up, something -

"It is true," Edward said, like it was being ripped from him. "I am a spy."

Just like that, her foundation crumbled away, and Isabella was left spinning. Except this time there was nothing left to catch her.

"Why?" Isabella asked, feeling ruined all over again. Her fingers released Edward from their grip. She took a step back, finding it harder and harder to breathe around him. "Why, why would do this?"

"I was sent here from Volterra, with Jasper, for a reason. It was supposed to be easy, it was just another mission, it - " he cut himself off from reciting all the things he had no doubt told himself a dozen times over. Isabella was distraught to see tears welling in his own eyes. "I-I was not supposed to fall in love."

"No," Isabella shook her head furiously, angry that he would even say such a thing at such a time. And yet, her treacherous, shattered heart still had the audacity to skip a beat. Even when she wanted to hate him more than she hated anything in this world for using her, betraying her, she could not manage it. "Do not say those words to me. Not now."

"Alice - "

"Why are you here? What do you want from me?" Isabella pushed on.

Edward swallowed, nodded, and something in his demeanor shifted - going from scorned lover to...soldier? It chilled Isabella to the bone. "From you? At first, information. You flaunted your access to the queen, and I saw an opportunity to get Jasper close. But, for many nights now, I have wanted nothing from you except your company."

"What do you want with the queen? Why is she so important to you?"

"King Aro is both blessed and cursed with visions. He can see things before they happen - mostly clips, fragments of times yet to be - but he often uses them to his advantage," Edward spun his story, though Isabella could scarcely believe in the notion of one of the mad kings being a prophet. "His last vision saw himself sitting on the throne of Volterra with his brother's heads in one hand and the strongest, purest heart of gleaming red in the other. It took many months of searching, but we finally managed to identify the heart from the vision: the heart of the Queen of Forks. Jasper and I were sent here to retrieve it."

Isabella had thought she had heard it all. But this...this was worst of it. Not the lies, nor the war, but this.

Her stomach churned violently, and she could not help but raise a hand to her breastbone as if it could stop stronger hands from clawing for what lied underneath.

"So...what then?" Isabella asked, her voice barely a whisper. It was all she could manage. "You were just going sneak into her chambers at night and cut it from her chest?"

Images filled her mind of her own body lying in the middle of a ballroom, dressed in her finest regalia, with a gaping hole where her heart once lied. Ribs cracked open, blood pooled like a halo around her head, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Dead, dead, _dead_.

"There are ceremonies...ancient ceremonies done with old magic that make it possible to live without a heart. If done properly, the woman would still live, but she would become a shell of who she once was. She would live a half life. A life without love."

Isabella let out an unhinged laugh that sounded more like a sob. As if that made things better. As if a half life was better than no life at all.

"And you were fine with doing that to another person? Taking a life does not bother you at all?"

"The Queen of Forks is but one woman," Edward said defensively, desperate for Isabella to understand. All Isabella understood was the stony quality of Edward's eyes that spoke clearly, _no, it does not other me at all_. "There is a whole kingdom of people living in squalor and misery, and if one life can save the lives of countless others...what other choice is there?"

 _What other choice was there?_

There were lots of choices. Many, many choices that did not include murder, or thievery or lies. But neither of them had been very good at making choices, now had they?

"You are a monster," Isabella said, her entire body numb. Her body, mind, and soul were completely overwhelmed and broken. She had no more energy left to feel horrified or upset. She just...was.

"Alice - " Edward started, but Isabella was already backing away. Then she was running, going faster and further than she thought her body could carry her. The bushes and trees were blurring into one seamless band of green and she realized that it was not because she was going faster but because her tears were obscuring her view. Still, she could hear the cries of _Alice!_ loud and clear, their echoes haunting her as she ran inside the palace.

She knocked over a vase turning a corner too quickly. She tripped up the steps taking them by twos. She rattled her bed frame as she crashed into it, throwing herself into the heaps of pillows and sheets and sobbing until she had no tears left to cry.

"Oh heavens!" Alice gasped as she came into the room, taking in Isabella's distressed form. "What has happened now?"

"Just hold me," Isabella begged, reaching for her maid like a child would their mother.

Alice was absolutely bewildered, but complied nonetheless. Alice held Isabella in her arms and let her cry and cry and cry for as long as Isabella needed. It was cathartic to shed all those terrible emotions, all the heartache and pain that the day had brought. And how brightly it had started...Isabella should have known that such happiness was too good to be true. She was such a fool. A complete and utter fool.

When the infantile waterworks had finally ended, Isabella's cheeks were red and splotchy. Her nose felt raw and her eyes were swollen. Her pride was wounded, her self-esteem ruined, and she felt less like a queen than she ever had.

But her mind was made up.

"I need to attend the masquerade tonight."

Alice's hand stilled where it had been stroking her hair. "But, My Lady - "

"No, Alice. There will be no more ruses. I must attend the masquerade."

"Very well," Alice replied tersely, clearly disappointed.

Isabella hated to make Alice cross with her, but it was for Alice's own good even if the maid did not know it. And Alice could not know it. The more people who knew about this web of lies, the more people who could hurt. It was bad enough that Isabella had stuck herself into this mess. Alice was merely an innocent victim of Isabella's games. If she had not been so foolish as to suggest the switch in the first place, maybe Alice would have been safe. Maybe neither of them would have found themselves in positions to attract the affection of two dangerous spies at all.

It was too late to dwell on what could have been. There was only room to focus on what happened now.

Now, Isabella needed to start making her own moves instead of falling into the schemes of men.

"I want to wear the red dress. The one with the roses."

"But that is meant for the final night. You wanted to make a statement."

"Statements can be made early," Isabella replied, removing her self from Alice's embrace and walking over to the wardrobe to find the exact dress she was thinking of: large and opulent and the color of blood. A perfect funeral dress. "See that the proper alterations are made before sundown."

"Of course, My Lady."

Alice got up, made a little curtsy, and scuttled out of the room, the heaps of thick fabric tucked in the crook of her arms.

When the maid was gone, Isabella turned her attention towards the mirror.

There would be no more hiding.

If this was to be her last night with a heart, then Isabella was going to break as many as she could before they got hers.


	20. Night Nine Part One

A/N: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! Certainly was an unexpected surprise :) And so sorry for the long wait! As some of you may have noticed, I was trying to finish up another project. I debated on how I wanted these next two chapters to go, and after much deliberation, I finally committed. I hope they don't disappoint! XOXOX

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Night Nine Part One: Edward

Edward was miserable.

He moved about the masquerade like a wraith, spreading gloominess and despair with every step. He had been dragged to the masquerade against his will, Jasper's demanding tone pressuring Edward into making the necessary appearance when he much rather would have spent the night drinking in his room, secluded from public eyes. There was barely an effort put into his appearance this night, his suit rumpled and his hair tousled and greasy. He did not even wear a jacket, his white-collared shirt exposed to the elements, making him stand out against the see of overdressed nobility. The garment was lost to him, as was the woman who possessed it.

Just the thought of Alice had Edward reaching for another drink. He had lost track of how many coursed through his veins. Enough to make the revelry bearable. And it was not as if he could mop up the alcohol from his stomach with anything to eat. Just a glance at the buffet table and all its delectable treats had his heart aching.

 _Oh Alice_ , Edward lamented as he replayed their interaction in the garden for the hundredth time that hour. He could not stop thinking about how everything went wrong so quickly. He had a plan. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it, and then...

Then, she blindsided him.

 _Monster_ , the echo rang through his ears, hours old and yet the sting felt fresh. Yes, Edward was a monster. He used to wear that title with pride, carried his savagery like a badge of honor. Now, he felt as though he could crawl out of his skin, disgusted with himself.

How had she even known he was a spy in the first place? Had Emmett or Rosalie gotten to her? She had acted strangely that night as well, and they had spent so much time apart. Or maybe...maybe Emmett was right and there was more to Alice than met the eye.

"I am glad you have taken care of that whore," Jasper said snidely as he sidled up to Edward. His words were purposely inflammatory, daring Edward to speak against him and prove him wrong. "Now we can return to our original purpose."

Edward did not reply. It took all his willpower to keep his mouth shut, grinding his teeth so hard he heard his jaw pop. He looked his partner up and down. Jasper looked especially well groomed this night, his suit expensive and sleek. His mask was a stark white, accentuating cruel blue eyes. How did the queen ever find such a brute attractive? Could she not see the predator lurking underneath?

"I see you have been spending our stipend well."

Jasper pursed thin lips and tipped up his nose. "Tonight is the night, Edward. I can feel it. Thought it best to look the part."

Now it was Edward's turn to purse his lips and turn a few shades darker red. Irrational fury spread through his veins like a poison. He did not want this masquerade to end, not when he had so many things to make up for. That, and Jasper's ego was enough to smother the remainder of any positive emotions left in Edward's body. Just being next to the man grated on Edward's nerves, his smug dominance oppressive.

"Try not to look so enthusiastic," Jasper said, his voice a mixture of venom and wit. Edward gripped his champagne flute so hard it was a miracle the glass did not shatter. "This is what we have worked so hard for: the glory of Volterra restored once more. Long live King Aro."

Jasper tilted his own glass held in a white-gloved hand towards Edward's. Edward, out of obligation, participated in the toast.

"Long live."

A frown pulled at Jasper's lips but he drank from his glass nonetheless.

"Gentlemen, why so glum?" came a voice from beside them. Both Edward and Jasper turned to see the King of Forks - along with his entourage - approaching. "Did no one tell you that this is supposed to be a celebration?"

Edward bowed his head and Jasper followed suit. "Forgive us, Your Majesty. I am afraid the drink must have gone to our heads."

"Careful with that. One too many and a man can get himself into a world of trouble," Jacob warned, white teeth sparkling from behind a wide smile. Most nights Edward would have thought that smile harmless, but there was a sharper edge to the king tonight, one that Edward did not particularly care for, nor one that fit with the image of the dolt Edward had built him to be. "Is that not right?"

The question was asked to his courtiers, who all trilled with laughter at their king's command. Jasper and Edward smiled along to be polite, but failed to see the king's humor, as they often did.

They were saved from futher conversation by the sound of fanfare. All eyes turned to the staircase, feigning surprised at who had arrived.

Like all the nights before, the Queen of Forks arrived with much fuss and jubilation so that all the courtiers could fawn over her. Edward had developed the habit of ignoring the spectacle since the second night, usually choosing to occupy his time attending to his drink or, for a brief interlude, Tanya Denali. After all, it was Jasper's job to do the fawning.

Tonight was different. Tonight, Edward felt the draw to look up and watch as the queen made herself known.

The queen was beautiful. Beautiful in a way Edward had not let himself entertain as she was hardly his to admire. Except for tonight, she did not look like Jasper's queen. No, the queen looked ethereal, untouchable. Her voluminous dress of lace red roses coated her body like armor, as if to tell anyone who came too near that her thorns would cut them to shreds. There were roses in her hair as well, woven in between chocolate curls to hold a golden coronet.

There were little things as well: her head a little taller, her posture a little straighter, the set of her jaw a little more severe. Normally, the Queen of Forks contained such effervescence that it threatened to spill out her person. Now, she carried herself as if she were being led to her death.

All of that drew Edward's attention, yes, but nothing as much as the mask she wore.

A mask of Volterran glass blown in delicate facets so that the candlelight sparkled across it like molten rubies.

That mask was one of a kind, and currently belonged to a kitchen girl by the name of Alice. Edward knew Alice would not give such a gift away, not after he had seen her gasp of awe upon receiving it. Not after Emmett's ball, hiding her face from everyone except him as he slipped that same mask off her at the end of the night.

And then, as she drew closer and closer still, like a vision out of Edward's worst nightmares, there were the eyes.

Edward knew the queen's eyes, had been intimately familiar with their particular shade of brown. These eyes were not the queen's. These eyes were ones that were painfully familiar to Edward, eyes that he had spent hours staring into during a starry picnic, across a crowded dance floor, behind the curtains of the palace ballroom that very first night.

Alice's eyes.

And yet, when Alice approached the king, the sea of courtiers parting around her, he was receptive of her in a way he had not been all the nights beforehand. This kind of reception was the kind given to a familiar presence, one that reflected a certain level of comfort that could only be built upon years and years of acclimation. It was subtle, almost subconscious.

"Ah, Isabella," the king sighed most happily. She turned her cheek so he could place a kiss upon it. "You look radiant, my dear. More yourself than you have this whole week."

"You know how I feel about parties," said that achingly familiar voice. Her red lips curved up into a smile as hollow as the hole Edward felt growing in his heart.

"Quite right," Jacob agreed, patting her gloved hand with his own. "May I just express how grateful I am to have you by _my_ side tonight." That was a clear jab at Jasper, one that neither man missed. Then, Jacob turned to the assorted guests and smiled as if sharing an inside joke. "She cannot stand these events. It is a wonder she has come to so many."

"Count your blessings, darling, for I feel I may not show up to any more."

A laugh broke out among the guests, but the queen remained silent and smiling that hollow smile. She was serious, Edward realized, his heart dropping to his stomach.

She knew _._

 _Of course she knew_ , Edward cursed himself a thousand times over, mentally lashing himself for his constant stupidity. He confessed everything to Alice in the garden, right before she rejected him in the most thorough way possible. She thought he was a monster then, but oh how she must think him truly wretched now.

Everyone else remained oblivious to the turmoil of the two former lovers standing across from one another, Edward unable to look away and Alice - _Isabella_ , Edward forced himself to correct. _She had played you too, stupid boy_ \- looking anywhere but.

"I shall just have to follow the trail of baking powder to search you out then, hmm?" the king continued his teasing, grinning in a way that begged for his queen to laugh along.

"Baking is just a hobby, nothing more," the queen assured, and her smile turned a little sadder.

Edward could hear the lie in her words, and oh, how that must have hurt her to say. Not more than it hurt him to have to witness this nightmare, surely, but close.

There were so many things Edward wanted to say, so many questions bubbling on the tip of his tongue, and yet he forced himself to swallow them down because here and now were not the right place nor time. He could not break down and scream, nor cry, nor rage, because to the rest of the world he had no right. This was the most miserable moment of his life, and Edward had had many miserable moments: whole days where he could not eat, whole weeks spent with half a body of broken bones, a whole life devoid of simple comforts - of love of any kind. Yet having his entire world fall apart and rearrange right before his very eyes, being unable to do anything about it as the woman who held his heart draped herself over another man, was the purest form of torture.

The pain made him angry, the anger ate through him like fire, and it _burned_. It burned so badly. But the little voice in his head told him he deserved every ounce of it.

 _You are a monster, and monsters deserve to burn._

Oblivious as the rest of the crowd, Jasper stepped forward and bowed to the queen with a flourish, reaching for her hand.

"Your Majesty."

His voice was syrupy sweet and meant to woo. Any other night, Edward would have watched the queen giggle like a schoolgirl as Jasper placed a kiss upon her gloved knuckles. Tonight, however, this queen took a step back and fixed Jasper with the most unamused look possible.

"No, I think not."

His whole life Edward had waited to see Jasper caught speechless and yet Edward did not have the time to savor it, because he, too, was speechless and gaping like a fish.

The courtiers covered their mouths with gloved hands as they laughed, pointing and jeering at Jasper's obvious failure. _Bold of him to assume the queen would favor him over her husband. How foolish._ Jasper gracefully straightened his spine and stepped back beside Edward, refusing to lower his head in shame. He kept his gaze, heated and infuriated, pinned on the queen, but she had ceased to pay him any attention whatsoever.

Insetad, the queen turned to her king, leaning into him a bit closer than considered proper, and said, "My love, would you care to dance?"

 _My love_. The words echoed through Edward's ears, a cacophony of sound so terrible he nearly winced. Only his training kept his raging emotions in check, and even then it was hard to ignore the way she was running her hand up the king's arm, the way her body angled towards his.

Now, it was the king's turn to gape like a fish, confused as much as anyone with this turn of events. However, beyond the initial shock was a satisfaction and pleasure that rivaled none. Edward knew that it had been all the king ever wanted to receive his wife's affections. Now, he had them...or so it seemed. Her eyes - those fractured, deep brown eyes - still lingered on Edward as she made her request.

"Anything for you, my dear."

The King escorted his Queen to the dance floor, a waltz strumming to greet them, and soon the couple was engulfed by a sea of fellow dancers.

"What was _that_?" Jasper seethed, practically foaming at the mouth like some sort of rabid animal. He looked ready to run across the ballroom and rip the king limb from limb. For once, Edward had the whim to indulge his partner, if for no reason other than his own petty jealousy. Jasper whipped his head towards Edward, eyes flashing. "What did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?" Edward repeated, astounded. That struck a nerve far too close to home. "I have done nothing!"

"I swear to the powers above if you - "

"Have you ever thought that just maybe _you_ have done something to repulse her?" Edward challenged, knowing that it was risky to provoke the bear once he was riled. But Edward did not have it in him to withstand his partner's abuse. Not now. Not when he was already dealing with one internal crisis. "I mean, look at you. I can hardly wonder why."

Jasper spat curses so quickly Edward could not parse them out, turning on his heel and shoving through the crowd. Edward should have been worried about what the man was going to do. For all Edward knew, he was off to get his knives and was going to cut his way through anyone that stood between him and the heart. But, at this moment in time, Edward could not bring himself to care. He was too busy stalking the royal couple across the dance floor.

The analytical part of Edward's mind had to admit that they were an elegant couple - far better matched than the queen before. Even in their dancing, as flawlessly executed as any professional, there was a familiarity. They were accustomed to one another, that was certain, but despite that there was a distance between them that could not be crossed. It was subtle, a trained eye needed to spot the way that the queen did not quite let her guard down in her husband's presence, how the king's hands were still tense and perfectly positioned on her lower back, how there was a fraction of space between them that kept their bodies from fully pulling flush.

Curious, Edward thought, his gaze never wavering. More than likely his behavior could be classified as a stalker, but he had little care for what other people thought. They could think him strange or obsessed, but he was in the middle of processing his new reality, and to do that he needed to gather as much information as possible.

The music slowed and so did the royal couple. Their turns devolved into half turns. The king leaned down just a fraction, breaking their unspoken distance, and for one terrible moment Edward thought he would be violently ill because he could not stand to watch the woman he hated himself for loving kiss another man. But his lips missed her own and even her cheek. Instead, the king turned to whisper something in her ear, and Edward watched as something dark and fearful crossed through the queen's mask of complacency.

The music stopped altogether, and the queen barely waited for the tremble of strings to still before she was curtseying to her king and briskly vacating the dance floor.

The urge to run to her, to make everything alright, flashed through Edward like lightning. He tamped it down when the anger surged right behind it. Edward had never felt such conflicting emotions before in his life. He hated it. He wished it would stop.

Her metaphorical mask had slipped back into place by the time the queen returned to the crowd of courtiers. The first thing she did was take a glass of champagne...and then another. Edward could see her hands trembling, a fine tremor that stilled the more she drank.

Though unsettled, the queen made a good show of pretending that everyhting was alright. Everyone who came up to praise her or suck up to her was greeted with a large smile and an embrace that startled a good deal of those who were used to her polite distance. The entire ballroom must have thought her possessed by a kindly spirit.

That was, until she opened her mouth.

Lady Denali was standing closest to the queen, close enough to snag her own golden gown on the thorns of the roses on the queen's, when the queen had taken her third glass of champagne with no signs of stopping any time soon. Lady Denali's sisters had not failed to notice this as well, whispering not so secretively behind their fans. Edward could see the tick in the queen's jaw as she drank. The whispers were affecting her, even if she could not parse the words though they could hardly be positive.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty? You seem rather... _friendly_ tonight," Lady Denali commented demurely, her lips parted in a blasé smile, as if she were trying to help a friend instead of take dig at her monarch.

"You would be one to know, Lady Denali," the queen parried back, a false smile of her own plastered on ruby red lips.

Lady Denali blinked once, taken aback. It was evident she was used to the queen rolling over and taking such comments in stride. "I beg pardon?"

"All I am saying is that if you are going to make accusations that I am whoring myself in public, at least do us all the decency of admitting that you would be the one to know best. After all, half the gentlemen here can attest to seeing you with your skirts off. Is that right?"

Everyone was taken aback now. Had that truly been said? Had their queen actually so publicly shamed Lady Denali, a prominent member of the court? No one could believe that their sweet, demure queen was capable of such vitriol. But it did not stop there.

"Like this gentleman," the queen continued, pointing to Edward, drawing him into the spotlight, the exact thing he did not want. Now, the discomfort was amplified by every soul in the vicinity. "You have slept with Lady Denali, have you not?"

Once Edward found his voice, a rough and tentative thing, he stood his ground as best he could. "I refuse to comment."

The queen's face grew angry. He could feel it radiating off her in waves. "Ah, I should have known that the truth would come hard to those not accustomed to telling it."

That stung. It was a low blow, one he could have easily parried had it come from anyone else. Edward felt himself flinch, visibly. If the Denali sisters were not so stunned, they would have relished his pain. However, they were holding their breaths alongside everyone else, watching and waiting for who the queen would target next. Some had even dared to sneak away, off to tell their tales of horror to the rest of the ballroom: _Avoid the queen. She has been possessed not by a friendly spirit but a most vicious demon._

Lady Clearwater, always so proud, held her head high and approached the queen.

"Your Majesty, what has gotten into you?"

"You mean what has loosened its hold on me?" the queen corrected, and Edward could see that she was becoming manic. Her entire body was covered in a fine tremor. "I find myself freer than I have been in a long while."

Lady Clearwater was not convinced. She reached one hand out placatingly. "Perhaps you should go rest..."

"Do not treat me as though I am unwell!" the queen snapped, Lady Clearwater scurrying back to avoid the queen's wrath. "There is nothing wrong with me. Besides, I fail to see why you care so much about my health. None of you have never shown any care before. Or is it because I am no longer smiling and praising all your insipid actions and nodding along to your vapid gossip?"

Edward realized then, what this was. This was years of repressed feelings, words, and actions. This was a woman breaking under the strain of her role. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, and they were all forced to bear the results.

"I could die tomorrow - " the queen stopped, her voice catching in her throat. To Edward's horror, there were the start of tears in her eyes. The facets of the glass mask only amplified their glistening. Everyone could see her crumbling with startling clarity. Her anger had faded to despair, her entire body wilting under the onslaught. "I could die tomorrow and none of you would shed a tear."

There were no words. No one moved. No one dared breathe. No one consoled their monarch. No one told her she was wrong, that she would be missed, that she was important. There were only silent looks, some of fear and some of pity.

The queen let out a laugh - a tiny, bubbling thing that was more a sob than a laugh.

"You are all as false as the masks you wear."

Her eyes scanned the crowd, making sure they all felt her wrath. They landed on Edward in the end. She made direct eye contact for the first time all night, her brown irises flooded with tears, absolutely helpless.

And then, like that very first night, she turned and fled.


	21. Night Nine Part Two

A/N: So glad to see that there are people out there who love and follow this story! Y'all just warmed my heart :) I hope you loves enjoy this installment just as much! XOXOX

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Night Nine Part Two: Isabella

Tears streamed down Isabella's cheeks as she ran from the masquerade.

She thought she could be strong, that she could hold her head high and fight through the night. She thought she could be the dangerous one for a change. And for a moment, speaking her mind and razing every single insipid courtier who had been forced into her social circle had been exhilarating. She had waited nearly a decade to wipe that smug grin off of Lady Denali's face! For once in her life, Isabella felt free.

But then the reality settled in, and she realized that no matter what she said, all these people would wake in the morning and attend another ball, and life would move on whether Isabella had spoken her mind or not. Her opinion was useless. She was a thing to be oohed and ahhed over. She was a commodity, not a necessity. Her opinion, her voice, was meaningless. And that crumbled whatever resolve she had built.

Of course, Edward was there as well, his face - even concealed by a mask - opening up fresh wounds. She had done her best to avoid contact, to pretend like he was not close enough to touch, and it had worked for a time. Until she had worked herself up too far to go back, her tight rein of control over her emotions slipping from her grip. Oh, how good it felt to lash out in the moment, how victory sung in her veins to finally get a stab in of her own. And oh, how terrible it was afterward to feel Edward's torment as acutely as her own.

 _What a wonderful show you've put on my dear_ , Jacob had whispered in her ear as he spun her close to his chest. She was unable to move in such a crowded dance floor, trapped by those dark, flinty eyes. _I almost believe you do not love him at all._

 _But I do,_ Isabella's heart wailed, breaking in her chest. _I hate him, I hate him, oh how I hate him! But I love him as well. Dear heavens above, do I love him!_

Isabella threw open the doors to her room, flying inside and giving Alice a fright. The maid jumped to her feet, eyes wide and panicked while Isabella ripped at the seams of her dress, clawing at her back, the fabric stifling and itching and far too similar to the color of blood.

"Get this thing off me!" she screamed, tears spilling over and down her cheeks.

This was another cage, another device used to trap her in a role she did not want. She never wanted a crown or a throne or power. All she ever wanted was to be left to bake in peace, and even that had been ruined. Ruined by green eyes and secrets and lies.

Isabella did not stop clawing, not even when Alice's hands came to soothe, to calm the frenetic motion.

"Get it off!" Isabella repeated, unable to say anything else through the sobs that shook her whole body.

Alice worked quickly, saying nothing as she tried her best to prize the roses from Isabella's body. They were tricky. Getting into the cursed gown took nearly an hour, making sure that none of the thorny edges snagged Isabella's skin or any of the fabric underneath. Now, Isabella regretted making such a bold choice. It took Alice forever to loose the roses from around her throat and out of her hair.

Isabella reached into her hive of curls and ripped the coronet out, the golden thing clanging against the wall where it landed. Then was the mask. Isabella ripped it from her face, took one look at all its gorgeous angles, how it represented so many _lies_ , and threw it against the wall as well. Unlike the gold coronet, the glass was not as strong. It shattered upon contact with the unforgiving plaster, falling into as many ruby colored pieces as it had facets.

Regret crept up her throat, making her sick. Another beautiful thing, ruined.

When Isabella looked up from her ring of destruction, Edward stood in the doorway.

Of course he had followed her. How could he not, Isabella told herself with a manic when what he desired was so close at hand? He had lost his mask as well, nothing to disguise him. But he wore another one now, one that could have only come from years of training. He stared her down, the temperature in the room becoming frosty, freezing Isabella's tears.

She sucked in a breath, shaking for a whole new reason now.

"Alice, leave us," Isabella said blankly. She had expelled all the anger and pain and sadness in her body. Now, all that was left was a sense of acceptance and dread.

"But - "

"Please," Isabella cut her maid off. She only had enough in her for one fight, and Alice was not it. "Leave."

Alice clearly did not want to go, if the stubborn set of her jaw or the severe narrowing of her brows in both Edward's and Isabella's direction were anything to go by. However, she did as her mistress wished, as usual.

"I will be right outside should you need me," Alice said primly, glaring at Edward one final time, danger be damned, before shutting them in the room together.

Edward stood there with all the austerity of a soldier, fists held at his sides, his expression stony and impossible to read. Only the anger in his eyes gave him away. It was a cold fury, one that could only come from immense hurt. Ah, so Isabella had affected him at the masquerade. _Good_ , the savage, petty part of her brain reveled. _It was what he deserved_.

Edward unclenched his jaw enough to speak. "Forgive me if I do not bow. It is not the sort of thing monsters do."

Out of all the emotions Isabella felt in that moment, she had the strangest urge to laugh. What an absurd thing to say to the woman you want to kill.

"I suppose that was the other you?" Edward continued, taking a turn about the room, no doubt plotting which places would leave the least amount of evidence once he was done with her carcass. "Easy to see how you managed it. Like looking in the mirror."

This time, the urge to laugh was too strong. The sound that escaped her lips, however, sounded far too much like a sob.

"If you have come to kill me, make it quick."

Edward cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed. "What makes you think I have come to kill you?"

"Please, do not play the fool," Isabella admonished. She turned and rummaged through a drawer, sniffling discreetly as she pulled out a letter opener which she then held out to Edward. It was rather large and ornate, but there was a sharp edge to it. More than enough to harm. "Here. I have made it easy for you. I would imagine retrieving a heart requires some cutting."

Edward snorted and turned away.

Isabella seized her chance.

She charged at Edward, reckless and furious, blade raised high. She had no thought to guide her other than her rage and her sheer desire to be the one left standing. Edward side-stepped her attempt easily enough, gripping her forearm and pushing her towards the fire place. Such a deflection cost him little effort. Isabella's chest was heaving from the rush, but Edward adjusted his jacket as if she had caused him no more than a minor inconvenience.

"Al - " Edward started, but held his tongue. An unreadable expression crossed over his face as he remembered to whom he was truly speaking. "Isabella, be sensible."

"You are right of course," Isabella laughed mirthlessly, fingers flexing on the hilt. Isabella did not miss the flash of hurt that flashed across his face as he spoke her true name, but she did not care if she had deceived him, not anymore. Whatever innocent trickery she had pulled, he had conspired to do much worse. "There is only one way this can end."

She could not hurt him, not a spy with God-knows how many years spent in combat in the fields of Volterra. But she could remove herself from the equation.

Isabella turned the blade on herself and held it against the pale expanse of skin exposed just above her heart. The organ was thundering underneath the unforgiving metal as if to scream, _I am alive!_ And she could feel it, every nerve inside her screaming for her to _stop!_ Oh, if only her traitorous body knew what fate awaited them otherwise...If only she could force herself to see that this was the best option...the only option...

"What are you doing!" Edward cried.

"The only way to win is if I remove myself from the game!" Isabella cried hysterically, pressing the blade further to her breast. "That way none of us gets what we want!"

There was enough pressure to draw blood, that topmost layer of thin flesh giving way, and Edward was upon her faster than a bolt of lightning, twisting her wrist at an angle so painful that she yelped. Edward prized the letter opener from her grip and tossed it across the room where it skittered under the furniture. It would be impossible to find without getting on hands and knees. Edward did not intend to let Isabella get more that far.

"Have you lost all forms of sense!" he shouted, equal parts anger and anguish.

He knew he should be quiet, that this place could be surrounded and any sign of distress could bring the whole armed guard to the door. But Edward had been stepping on his emotions, beating them down as far as they could go, for too long. They rose up in him now like a viper, striking red hot and vicious. His grip on Isabella's wrist was too tight, violent even, but he could not bring himself to loosen it. Not until he saw the tears.

"Please, kill me," Isabella found herself begging, forgoing all sense of pride as she let the waterworks go. "If you ever had any love for me, any at all, then you will kill me!"

Edward dropped her wrist as though burned, incredible hurt passing through those beautiful green eyes.

"I cannot!" Edward's was still loud and aggressive, but his tone was that of utter shock and revulsion. Gone was the reserved gentleman, replaced with the baser animal. He surged forward and gripped Isabella tightly by the shoulders, enough so that she could feel pressure of a bruise. He stared her down, as if daring Isabella to defy him. "I will not."

 _How dare he_.

Isabella had no shame in letting her angry tears fall heavy, her rouged cheeks and charcoaled eyes smearing in the most unattractive manner. She hoped he enjoyed his handiwork. She hoped he found what he was looking for when he set out to ruin her life.

"Then you are truly a monster."

"Are not we both?" Edward challenged, his voice charged with something hot. "Or are you forgetting that you played your own game of hearts?"

"Do not pretend that we are the same," Isabella spat, wiping at her eyes furiously. She briefly scanned the room for the dagger, but wherever Edward had tossed it, it was well and truly lost. "My end goal was never _murder_."

"There are many kinds of death, _Alice_." The name was like a stab to the heart, metaphorically speaking, and Isabella shivered.

Yes, she knew she did Edward wrong, so very wrong. She should have been honest from the start. She never should have coerced her maid into this charade. Everything about this was a mistake, and yet, there was no way to fix it now. She and Edward could only forge forward, if there was even a forward from where they stood.

Silence spread between them, oppressive, until Edward let out a long sigh, and with it his anger. "You are hurt."

Isabella followed Edward's gaze to the space next to her sternum. "So I am."

She had forgotten about the cut, and now that it had her attention, she realized how badly it hurt. Blood had leaked down the dip of her breast, the incision itself struggling to clot. Gently, she prodded at it, and hissed at the sharp sting of pain.

From the corner of her eye, Edward winced. "Would her Majesty allow me the privilege of mending her wound?"

Isabella had no reason to refuse. Either this was a ruse to get her close enough to steal her heart, after which she could easily finish her botched job, or it was a genuine offer to help, after which the stinging would diminish greatly. That, and she was far too tired to continue fighting. She was not a creature of action, and tonight had taken its toll.

Edward gestured for Isabella to sit at her vanity. He had moved the chair so that it faced not the mirror, but the empty space. Isabella obeyed, watching carefully as Edward milled about her room as if he owned it, rummaging through her drawers, disappearing into her bathroom, and collecting a whole manner of things. He placed his collection on the vanity itself, shoving aside jewelry and products more expensive than he could fathom, and knelt by Isabella's side.

The first step was to clean the wound. Tentatively, his hands pulled at the edges of her neckline, pushing the rosy fabric aside to expose more skin. It was not a romantic gesture, though the thought that the hands on her had committed murder did send a thrill up Isabella's spine followed by a brief flash of panic. Goose flesh broke out where Edward's hands went. He did not let that go unnoticed.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said softly, and for some reason, despite all the lies between them, Isabella believed him.

A downy towel dipped in warm water replaced Edward's hand, slowly rubbing circles across the mess. Isabella hissed again, her wound disliking being agitated. She kept as still as she could despite the discomfort. Edward kept his work precise, skill present in every subtle move. This was not the first time he had cleaned a wound like this, Isabella thought. This was not surprising, either. A line of work like Edward's must come with its fair share of bumps and bruises.

Briefly, Isabella wondered how many of these experiences were mending his own wounds compared to someone else's. If she peeled back the layers as he had peeled hers and gotten to the skin underneath, would she find a road map of cuts and scars? Would they spell out a story too terrible to tell? Would he sugar coat them and make them easier to bear? No, Edward did not seem like the type to coddle, even as he showed her immense care. He would tell her not to worry, that it was all in the past even though they both would hear the past pain coloring every word.

A shake of her head, and Isabella brought herself to the present. _Where had that line of thought come from?_

Edward had cleaned her wound completely, the skin pink and inflamed but clear of blood save for where he had to dab at the congealing scab. Thankfully, the cut was not very deep. Apparently Isabella's will was not that strong after all. He had a few scraps of cloth in his hand, presumably to keep pressure as the cut healed completely.

 _Why was he doing this?_ Isabella thought as he pressed the cloths tightly to her chest, holding them there with the utmost care. Why did he care? He had made it clear how he felt, made his anger known. He had even called himself a monster. And yet, Isabella could not shake the look in his eyes at the ball - and then again as they fought. Could not shake the grief she found there. Could not shake what went unspoken underneath the confessions he did make.

 _There are many kinds of death_.

"I suppose the difference between these games of our is that your heart will eventually mend, where as mine will be gone from me forever," Isabella said finally, her voice soft and heavy. Edward stilled as she spoke, paying close attention. "I do not weep to be dramatic. I weep to mourn, and mourned I have. So, if you take my heart, do it swiftly. All I ask is that afterwards, you put me out of my misery, for I have lived a half-life for far too long and have no wish to live another."

"I am afraid that is not possible," Edward said, slow and sure. He brushed his fingers across the dressing, stroking over and over again where her heart threatened to beat out her chest. "To cut out your heart would be to cut out my own, and I have fallen too weak to make the sacrifice."

Isabella's breath caught in her throat. The implications of what Edward was saying were too great. "What of Volterra?"

Those beautiful green eyes, so full of anguish and anger and - dare she even say it - _love_ , were also resolute. Edward held Isabella's gaze, never wavering. "Aro will have to settle for another heart. This one is mine."

Isabella's hand came up to close around Edward's, stilling his strokes. The pulse underneath her fingers was quick and strong, and oh how it leapt when she leaned in the slightest bit closer to close the space between them. He could not fake a reaction like that.

The urge to kiss him was strong, and so Isabella gave in to it, let herself be dragged under a wave of emotion and love so inexplicable that it could only be divined by Fate itself. There was so much feeling there in that chaste brush of lips, so much longing and wanting and hurting and healing. How could Isabella feel so much for a person she had only known a week? How could she feel this way about someone who came to see her dead?

"I fear you have known more of me than I have ever known of myself, and even then, it was a lie," she said as they parted, lingering close enough to share breaths.

Edward pushed a few stray curls across her forehead, hands resting on her jaw, cupping her face in his hands. "Not all of it. This is true, is it not?"

Lips pressed to her cheeks, to her forehead, to the place where her jaw met her ear, and Isabella sighed. "It is."

"Then there will be plenty of time to sort the rest."

"Will there?" Isabella asked, the outside world and all its troubles sowing doubts into her newfound happiness. "There is still the matter of my husband, and my kingdom. As much as I hate it, I cannot leave duty behind. And there is still one Volterran who very much wants my heart. Oh dear Lord! Alice! The real Alice is in danger and it is all my fault!"

In all her moping and misery, Isabella had not thought through the implications of the switch. True, Isabella knew that Jasper was Volterran and up to no good, and that keeping Alice away from him was a good idea, but Jasper wanted Isabella _dead_. He wanted to cut her heart from her chest while she was still living. And Alice was none the wiser. Oh, for all Isabella knew, Alice would rummage through Isabella's closet, take a gown, and meet Jasper in the gardens! She was so in love, she would not listen to reason. It would not be safe for Alice to go anywhere!

Would it be possible to trap Alice in Isabella's room? Was it ethical to -

"Hush," Edward soothed, running his fingers gently through Isabella's curls, grounding her turbulent thoughts. "Everything will be fine. Let me deal with Jasper. We can convene in the morning."

True, it was late. Far too late to think through any grand scheme rationally. If Isabella were to think of a plan to save her closest friend's life, then it would be after she let her body, mind, and soul rest. Today had been too much on its own, full of elation and desolation in equal droves. Tomorrow, however, held the promise of something better...and also something far worse.

A hand extended towards her and Isabella used it to help herself upright. She swayed on her feet, though Edward close to steady her. Standing, her gown more easily shifted, pulling downwards in a way that would have been indecent had Isabella not caught it in time, her trembling fingers holding the fabric up against her chest. Her nightgown was around the room somewhere, but she lacked the energy to go searching for it.

"Tomorrow morning then, Mister Masen?" Isabella asked, her voice drowsy. She did not mean to clip the conversation, but her bed beckoned to her, and Isabella found it harder and harder to fight off sleep.

Edward smiled a knowing smile, backing towards to door. "Tomorrow morning, Your Majesty."

"And where should I wait?"

"I will find you, never fear. A spy has his ways," Edward replied, his tone light and teasing. Perhaps it was too soon to make fun of such a heavy topic, but Edward was not one for reverence. "Sleep well, Isabella."

Sleep well, she did.


	22. Day Ten

A/N: Lovely people! I have news! There are only about seven chapters left before the end of Twelve Nights, and while it is bittersweet to bring yet another tale to a close, I get to say hello to something new and beautiful! I have a new story in the planning process - this one going back to my gods and monsters roots but with a modern twist (however, not a sequel to The River God's Wife, so sorry). So, be on the lookout! Unless I get impatient, nothing will be worked on or posted until this story is wrapped up. That being said, I hope you loves enjoy this installment, aka the fallout of Isabella's chaotic Night Nine! XOXOX

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Day Ten

Isabella woke the next morning to the curtains being ripped away and Alice hovering far too close, a familiar calling card clenched tight in her delicate hands.

Unfortunately, Isabella had been expecting an awakening as such.

"How much trouble am I in?"

"Quite a lot, I am afraid," Alice replied timidly. She looked so sad. No one had any business looking that sad.

"Ah, I see." Isabella got out from under the safety of the covers and stood up tall. There was no denying how poorly this meeting was bound to go. The least she could do was go out in style. "Let's not keep them waiting."

"Very well, My Lady."

Little effort was put into her appearance. It was a purposeful statement to look so plain. Isabella kept her hair long and loose, in tousled waved with nothing to hold them back. The dress she wore was midnight blue with a modest neckline to hide the patch overtop the still-tender wound on her chest, with matching robes to layer atop it. She looked like a starless night or Death herself.

The servants stared at her as she and Alice walked the halls towards the king's study. Years spent avoiding Jacob's wings of the palace and twice in one week Isabella found herself wandering there. However, she knew it was not her unusual presence that drew all the attention. It was her unusual behavior at the masquerade, certainly. Rumors and lies spread so quickly in court, and servants were always the first to know news. Isabella thought she could hear the new rumors stirring now: _The Queen is being escorted to her the King's chambers dressed for a funeral. Surely her end is near!_

 _Let them talk,_ Isabella thought viciously. _Lower minds have time for little else._

Too soon Isabella reached her destination. She could hear shuffling and low voices speaking from behind double doors, but she could not bring herself to enter. Not yet. Whatever happened, nothing would be the same after she entered that room. And she just needed a moment...a single moment...

Alice understood. She always did. The maid took Isabella's hand, looking so very concerned and yet so very proud.

"Just so you know, no matter how much I may not agree with...certain _things_...I have always and will always support you."

"Oh Alice, I know," Isabella replied, feeling her eyes grow a bit misty. She pulled her maid in for a tight hug, social hierarchy be damned. "I could never have asked for someone better to call friend."

And what a terrible friend she had been to poor Alice these past few nights: giving her the chance at love and then ripping it away. How was Isabella to know that Jasper was a monster? Better yet, how was she to break the news in a way that Alice would not rebuff the idea altogether? Such thoughts ate away at her, but now was hardly the time to voice them just yet. She needed to face the vipers first.

Alice sniffled as she pulled away, nodding her head towards the door. "Best of luck then."

Isabella nodded in reply, letting her hand slide out of Alice's and onto the bronze doorknob. It turned without so much as a creak, swinging silently to reveal the crowd of familiar faces that had gathered in Jacob's office.

It was not surprising for Isabella to see her mother amongst the crowd. It was surprising, however, to see her father, Lord Charles, the Marquis of Greater Washington present amongst the bunch; he normally refused to share the same spaces as his former wife. Completing the set of witnesses was Lady Denali, Lady Clearwater, and Princess Rachel. Oh, and Jacob, of course. No group was complete without her disapproving husband glowering over the group from his desk.

When she reached the end of the room, they all went quiet and stared at her. Isabella steeled herself and kept her head high, trying not to let the stares get to her.

"I see my arrival has been much anticipated."

"So it has," Jacob said, gesturing to the semi-circle of open seats around the bay window. "Please, everyone, sit."

Isabella had the honor of sitting at the far end of the line, her chair angled towards the others so that everyone could have a good look at her. Lady Denali sat furthest away, Jacob the closest, everyone else falling somewhere in between. The layout was purposeful, she noted. So that she could be put on trial, as it were. Made a spectacle of. She would expect nothing less from these vultures.

"I suspect you know why you were asked to join us."

"Yes, I have a good idea," Isabella replied, her tone neutral. She suspected they expected her to show immediate remorse, to fall on her knees and plead for forgiveness, to kiss their feet and call them wonderful. They would have to keep waiting, if that were the case. She could stand off in a battle of wills for hours, if need be.

"Then you are aware that your behavior last night was utterly unacceptable from a woman of your station."

"Appalling is more like it," Lady Denali commented snidely, shooting Isabella a furtive side glare. "An absolute mockery to the title of Queen."

Isabella let out a trying breath. She had no patience for pettiness. "Have you brought me here for no reason other than to shame me?"

"I brought you here to issue an ultimatum."

Jacob nodded towards Lord Charles, the older man's voice gruff as embarrassment colored his cheeks. It was the first time that Isabella felt shame for her actions. Her father was the sweetest, kindest man, nothing like her mother. And while he had been oblivious to her feelings as all men were when it came to their female counterparts, Lord Charles had done nothing but love Isabella her whole life through. No doubt he was ashamed of her now, and Isabella could not stand the thought of that.

"Your choice is this: rid yourself of your Volterran lover, beg the king for forgiveness, bear him a son, and all will be forgiven."

Her father's eyes spoke clearly: _do as the king bids. Do this and spare the family disgrace_. Isabella found it hard to look away, found it harder still to meet Jacob's eye instead.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Jacob confirmed with a single nod. However, he still did not look pleased, something stormy about him.

"And if I refuse?"

Her father and mother both hissed as they sucked in breaths, clearly infuriated by Isabella's question. The ladies merely frowned and looked among one another, their insatiable curiosity keeping them on their toes as to what their mad queen would say next.

Jacob's reaction was to deepen his frown. The stormy quality remained. "Then you will be imprisoned, and most likely executed, for high treason."

Deep down, Isabella knew that speaking her mind would cost her everything. She just did not expect everything to include her life. Her crown, yes. Her place at court, yes. Her respect, yes. Her head, no. Reflexively, she went to rub at her throat, already expecting to find it lighter.

Her choices were between two deaths: death by gilded cage or death by guillotine. Neither were appealing, but only one bought her more time. And she had already proven herself the consummate actress.

"Well, it seems as though there is only one logical choice," Isabella said, willing the tremor out of her voice long enough to be convincing. She smiled up at Jacob as genuinely she could under threat of death. "I will do as you ask, willingly. Eagerly, even."

"Praises be!" Lady Renée exclaimed, physically letting the tension bleed out of her frame. She slouched back in her chair, fanning herself dramatically. "The girl shows some sense!"

A murmur of approval spread through the small group. Even the servants silently watching against the walls minutely nodded in support.

"I am glad to see this change of heart. Still, I think it best if you stay away from the masquerade tonight," Jacob announced so that the entire room could hear her invitation rescinded. Isabella did her best to smile, unaffected even though the smug grin on Lady Denali's face made her want to rip the woman's blonde curls out. "Rest that gorgeous head of yours. I think that the festivities have taken their toll, do you think?"

"You would know best, My Lord," Isabella replied, the picture of an obedient wife. Despite the humiliation of appearing weak to the people she liked least, she was grateful not to have to parade around the masquerade for at least another night.

"Is that all, My King?" Lady Denali spoke up, unsatisfied. She fanned herself furiously, her cheeks a dark red color. "Your lady wife slanders my name and this is all the rebuke she receives?"

"I shall be the judge on how to best handle my household, thank you, Lady Denali," Jacob immediately shut her down, the outspoken lady clicking her jaw shut as to not draw more of her king's ire. "Perhaps, if you wish not to have rumors spread about your person, do not give them cause to fan the flames."

Lady Denali's flush deepened in embarrassment and anger, though she was hardly in a place to argue against the King himself. Isabella fought not to show her immense satisfaction. This may have been the only good thing Jacob had ever done.

Satisfied with his little show, Jacob clapped his hands together.

"Thank you all for coming. You may go now. I look forward to seeing you at the ball tonight."

A chorus of honorifics echoed off the walls as everyone made their exits. Lady Denali turned her nose up and did not bother with a curtsey in Isabella's direction, which was fine. Isabella did not want anything from that woman now or ever again. Lady Clearwater was equally as snobby, trailing on Lady Denali's heels, and since when had they been such close friends? Strange to say the least, but not bothering Isabella in the slightest.

She rose from her chair with all the grace she possessed and approached her husband. He had already moved his attention to that war map of his, pushing tiny players around his desk as if they were toys and not the representation of hundreds of Forksmen's lives.

"Your generosity surprises me, My Lord," Isabella said quietly so that only Jacob could hear. "I thought I was to be bait for the Volterran so you could discover his plot."

The storm in Jacob's eye came to a head. She could feel the energy crackling, dangerous. "I grew tired of playing games."

"You are right, of course," Isabella was quick to agree, and she ducked her head respectfully, though she was satisfied to strike a nerve. With eyes low, she could only respect the irony between his words and his war map, the choice of life and death held in a figurine between his bejeweled fingers. "Games are only fun so long as you have the upper hand."

"Do not count me out just yet, my dear," Jacob said, his smile was warm enough to any wandering eye. Only Isabella knew him well enough to take the warning as it was. "There are still moves to be made from the shadows."

Right he was again, though Isabella remained quiet this time. She wondered just how many games of chess were going on at the same time. She was not naive to think that Jacob was not plotting behind her back, nor Jasper, and both were oblivious to the changing game between she and Edward.

A tap on Jacob's shoulder pulled him away, his back turning to Isabella without so much as an excuse. And then someone else was upon Isabella as well, a presence as cold and as vengeful as a Fury.

"I hope you are grateful," Princess Rachel said, ever as high and mighty as she stood toe-to-toe with Isabella. They could not have looked as night and day: Rachel with her buttercream dress and Isabella in her midnight robes. The humor lied in the fact that Rachel was as dark and stormy as her brother, while Isabella felt as unbothered and light as a summer's day. "You do not deserve my brother's mercy. If it were up to me, I would already see you hanged."

"Too right," Isabella agreed, shocking to the point that the princess' jaw dropped. "Your brother is far too merciful. I do not deserve him."

 _I do not deserve any of this_ , is what went unspoken. _The only crime I have committed is the crime of love, and even that must be taken from me_.

Rachel's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If this is some kind of ruse, believe me, I will suss it out. You cannot fool me anymore, Isabella."

"I would not dream of thinking otherwise."

 _The only thing I dream of is watching you swallow your hateful, poisonous words._

They exchanged falsely-pleasant smiles, both women sensing the absolute animosity that radiated from every pore of their bodies for one another. It was liberating, Isabella thought, to not have to pretend to be kind to the princess.

It was not liberating, however, to feel her mother's wrath upon her like a vice, all-encompassing and overbearing.

On her best days, Lady Renée was too much to handle. Now, worked up in a tizzy, her face beet red, fanning herself rapidly lest her nerves cause her to faint...well she looked utterly possessed. She appeared less like a lady and more like a manic harpy with all the feathers sticking out of her hive of hair, her dress the garish orange color of a sunset, her beady eyes narrowed and furious.

"Wicked girl! How dare you do this to me? How dare you embarrass me in front of the court, in front of the King! I know I raised you to have more respect!"

"Forgive me if I have turned out to be a disappointment, but you _raised_ me to only do what _you_ wanted," Isabella replied, surprised at how even her voice was despite the years of hurt she was unearthing. "Did you ever stop to think, for once, about what I wanted?"

Of course, Isabella knew that was too much to ask of someone like her mother. She did not know why, all these years later, she even bothered to try. And still, all these years later, the rejection still stung.

"You have always been far more trouble than you are worth," Lady Renée spat, looking upon Isabella as if she was something that had sullied her shoe.

"And you have always been the poorest excuse for a mother."

Isabella did not expect the palm that made contact, the sting of a slap burning across her cheek. Eyes wide and tearing up, Isabella stared, dumbstruck by her mother who had moved the offending hand to her side. The force of the strike was nothing compared to the force of her glare.

"You would dare to strike your queen?" Isabella asked, disbelief coating her every breathy word.

"Perhaps if she acted like one, she would receive my respect."

Isabella watched as her mother stormed away, fighting the urge to be violently ill. Her head spun. Had that truly just happened?

Lord Charles stood by, watching silently. Isabella turned to face him.

"Have you forsaken me as well?"

Isabella hoped she did not sound as small and childlike as she felt. The Marquis of Greater Washington did nothing to assuage his daughter's doubts. He merely flashed her a final, withering look that spoke of his immense disappointment, before exiting the room

She was alone? So be it. Isabella had long since become accustomed to doing things on her own.

Finding a solution to her problems in three nights' time would be no different.


	23. Night Ten

A/N: Hello loves! And here we have a chapter that warrants the M-rating, both for violence and sexy times! I hope you loves enjoy! XOXOX

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Night Ten

If asked how he had spent his day, Edward would say the same way he was currently spending his night: in a daze.

Multiple times throughout the day he had asked himself if the events of the previous night had actually occurred. Had he truly set aside his allegiances to pledge himself to Isabella? At times it felt as though it had happened to another person - another, not-so-jaded Edward who was much more greatly influenced by his heart than his head. He could not bring himself to regret his choices. His heart must have known what his mind kept denying, acting for him before he could destroy the one good thing in his life.

Once the sting of the night had worn off, Edward had found himself realizing that he had caught a glimpse of what Aro had desired in Isabella's heart. It may have been smashed underneath years of forced supplication, but there was a rebel inside of Isabella. That spark was not gone completely.

This night was shaping to be much more subdued than the previous one. Making his rounds about the ballroom, Edward noticed all whispers about the Queen's outburst had been snuffed, the King refusing to let her name even be spoken. Not that that did much to put out fires; her absence spoke plainly enough. Edward had feared a backlash such as this. He only hoped that Isabella found peace in speaking her mind, that whatever punishment the courtiers and noblewomen came up with was worth expressing herself.

Satisfied that there was nothing to be done and no one to woo, Edward took to the shadows. He moved silently to the back of the ballroom, exiting to a corridor that led to the main hall. A few guests milled about the entryway, but none paid him any mind. Edward was yet another face in a black mask. No one notable. Just as he preferred.

"Where is the Queen?"

Edward had stopped being spooked at that voice many nights ago. However, that did not stop Jasper from being a sneaky bastard any chance he got.

"You have become quite the broken record with that one," Edward replied in a manner too blasé to be considered respectful, but he and Jasper were past the effort of getting along. " _Where is the Queen? Why did she do this? What have you done?_ Does it ever bore you, repeating yourself over and over again?"

"Mock me all you want, it matters not. I have devised a plan to get her heart without the wooing."

This was news to Edward, alarming news at that. He tried not to make his alarm too obvious.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is a very simple plan. Even a cowardly, incompetent ass such as yourself could execute it. It goes as such: approach the Queen when she is alone, pin her down, and cut the vital organ from her chest." Jasper listed the steps as if making a recipe. Not plotting the murder of a monarch in such a brutal, inelegant fashion. It was not Jasper's usual course of action. Edward was confused. Jasper, however, ignored Edward's look of concern, carrying on with his ramblings. "Of course, a heart in love is stronger than a heart filled with fear, but due to your _spectacular_ ability to screw us over at every turn, we are out of time."

For a moment, Edward was too taken aback to speak.

"Pray tell, when did you intend to share this new plan?"

"I was not sure if I was going to share it at all, if I am being honest. What a thrill it is, to tell the truth." The smile on Jasper's lips was manic, except instead of happiness there was only murderous glee. Such naked hostility sent a chill down Edward's spine. "While I am at it, I suppose I should tell you that, while I was going to turn you in to Aro for treason, I have every intention of slitting your throat as soon as we have made it across the Volterran line."

Edward took a step away from his counterpart, subtly assessing him for concealed weaponry. Jasper did not look as though he had any knives hidden up his sleeve, but his eyes spoke of an bloodlust that only Edward's blood could sate.

"Why are you telling me this? You have given away your element of surprise."

"Because whether you know it or not, you will happen. You have neither the skill nor strength to stop me," Jasper replied with that same manic nonchalance. He shrugged his shoulders and then placed one hand heavy on Edward's shoulder, far too close to the neck for Edward's liking. "I suppose the only thing left up in the air is whether I kill that little kitchen whore you care so much for or not."

Edward pushed Jasper's hand off of him, stepping back into Jasper's space with a warning finger to his face. "If you so much as touch her - "

Anger had always been Edward's downfall. He should have seen he was being bated, lured in where he was weakest. It was too easy for Jasper to side-step the pointed finger, to grab Edward's outstretched wrist and _twist_ so that the bones cracked and Edward was forced to bend over to prevent the wrist from shattering entirely.

Edward did not scream. No, he was familiar with this pain.

What he was not familiar with was the knee to the ribcage that came immediately afterward.

It knocked the breath from him, leaving his lungs gasping. Edward was unable to wrench his wrist away to stabilize himself, leaving his body gasping and flailing as the knee came again, and again. He felt ribs shift this time, bruise through the fabric of his suit. His vision spotted as he was unable to catch his breath, choking on nothing.

"See, Edward, you let emotion rule your every move. That is why you are so _weak,_ " Jasper chided, not a hair out of place, cool as ice. He watched the display with pity and disgust in his eyes.

Edward, ever the fool, lashed out. And Jasper dodged that attack as well, moving out of Edward's path as he swung his fist, catching the fist on its way down only to throw the arm away and land a solid hit of his own. Jasper's knuckles collided with Edward's cheek bone, Edward feeling the skin split as soon as bone hit skin. It hurt worse than the knees.

Blood dripped from Edward's mouth as he spat on the ground. He leaned on a nearby pillar for support, bent over and trying not to dry heave.

Jasper tutted, and shook his head.

"You want your precious Alice to live? Stay out of my way, and _if_ I happen to require your assistance, you will do as I say without question. Nod if you understand."

Edward _hated_ him. He hated Jasper _so much_. But he nodded anyway, because if they fought any longer someone was bound to notice, and Edward was too badly hurt now to do much good in a fight.

"Good man," Jasper said with a cheer that could have been genuine if he did not have Edward's blood on his knuckles. He smoothed those very same bloodied knuckles on the crisp white of Edward's button down, leaving red streaks across Edward's chest. "Enjoy the rest of your night. It may be your last."

Edward did not give Jasper the satisfaction of seeing him give into fear. No, Edward waited until Jasper had turned the corner to enter the ball before he let himself collapse against the wall. His ribs ached as he leaned on them. His face had stopped bleeding, but the cheekbone was tender. Fractured, more than likely. Edward was familiar with the sensation; it was one he could ignore for a little while.

One sensation he could not ignore was fear.

It was not fear for his own life that coursed through him, but fear for Isabella's life. Jasper was right about one thing: Edward was no match for him. Isabella was even less prepared should she come face to face with the psychopath. Edward had promised that he would handle the Jasper situation, and he would. He just needed a plan, something that could stall or divert Jasper long enough to keep Isabella safe. That would have been so much easier if he knew what Jasper was planning in greater detail, but Jasper had well and truly separated himself from Edward. Edward did not like being on the outside, and there was no hope of prizing information out of Jasper. Jasper would play these cards close to his chest and would sooner die than let himself be known.

Edward was facing an unknown threat with nothing but sheer will and determination to arm him. He had faced worse odds. But he'd never had stakes this high. For some reason, that only made his determination to win greater.

Reckless was Edward, running down the halls of the palace to find a suite he had only visited once before. Reckless and filled with the need to protect his queen at all costs. Irrational was a word for this feeling as well, filled with heart-stopping palpitations and terrible, horrible visions of Isabella butchered in only the grotesque ways Jasper knew how. Careless was he who bypassed every nosy servant and curious guard, careless as to who saw him burst through the Queen's doors at such an unseemly hour.

He really should have announced himself.

If he had, Edward would not have run in on the Queen in such a...delicate state.

Immediately, Edward's train of thought derailed. Not only that, the train crashed and went up into smoke. Gone were the thoughts of death and destruction. Gone was the urge to guard Isabella like a feral dog protects their master (though that one still lingered in the primitive cavities of his mind). New visions and urges replaced those as he processed what he was seeing.

Isabella had clearly been preparing for an early night in. Alice was nowhere to be seen, the queen brushing through her own hair at her vanity, the curls long and loose to frame her heart-shaped face. Such a scene would have been innocent, had Isabella not been wearing anything other than a sheer nightgown, white and billowing and yet failing to disguise supple curves. It was such a plain display of her natural beauty that Edward found it hard to find words.

The only thing that ruined the picturesque scene was the look of sheer shock on Isabella's face, and not the good kind. Her cheeks had paled, her brown eyes full of fear.

That's when Edward saw: there was blood splattered across his stark white shirt.

He wanted to tell her not to fear, that it was not his, that he was not a monster. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to assure her. Her mind had probably jumped to her worst fears, that the blood was only the start. That he was here for her heart, just like he promised he would not.

Instead, she took him by surprise. She rose from her seat, placed her brush on the vanity, and approached him until they were but a breath's width away.

"You are hurt," Isabella said gently, her words the mirror image of those spoken the night before.

Dumbfounded, Edward remembered the exchange. "So I am."

Isabella reached out, her fingers slipping between the open buttons of his shirt, bare fingers scraping across the hair on his chest. Edward swore his entire body erupted into flames. Isabella saw his tension and bit down on her bottom lip, more than likely worrying that her touch would cause more damage.

Edward could stand this caution no longer. If this was to be his last night, he would make his feelings known.

He grabbed a fistful of those gorgeous brown curls and pulled Isabella to him. Her yelp of surprise was more than satisfying, a smile creeping up his lips as she gave into him. She all but melted against his body, pressing herself to him so that there was as little space between them as possible. Her hands roamed everywhere. After having to abstain from touch before, now it seemed as though she had no clue where to start. It was easy for Edward. He had been dying to ruin her hair from the very beginning. He could gladly hold her silky curls between his fingers and hold her there to kiss for all eternity.

Isabella's hands reached further and further up the back of his shirt until Edward had no choice but to rid himself of the garment altogether. He knew his physique was in good form due to his relentless training, but Isabella's wide-eyed response was more than gratifying. Her hunger was palpable, so much so that it was slightly terrifying. Her fingers hovered over the skin, as if unsure of where to explore first.

The caution had returned as well, no doubt due to the black and blue that marred his sides. Isabella looked melancholy at the sight. Edward tucked a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she could look at him.

"I am fine enough for this, I promise."

Edward sealed the promise with a kiss, taking Isabella's hands and placing them on his sides for her, letting her know that he was not broken. This seemed to convince her enough to return his kisses again, open-mouthed and hot. Edward was growing obsessed with her mouth. It had always looked so perfectly rounded and plump, but there was something better about pulling back and seeing those lips reddened and swollen from kissing.

While Isabella was in control of her country, Edward took command of the bedroom, deepening the kiss as he steered her towards the bed.

They fell back onto the mattress, Isabella lying prone beneath him. There, Edward bestowed her neck with kisses, sucking marks into the sensitive skin. He should have proceeded with more caution before working the skin between his teeth, bruises purpling under his mouth before he had the chance to pull away. He should have had the next morning's social engagements in mind, but he could not have given less of a fuck about appearances when the Queen of Forks was making noises like _that_. Noises like she needed his mouth to live. Noises mixed with words of praise, urging him to never stop.

He grasped at the edges of her nightgown, bunching it up at her waist as he sat back on his heels in the cradle of her hips. Fingers traced the length of her thighs and calves. Isabella let out a breath of a laugh as Edward found a ticklish spot behind her knee, reflexively bending it before letting her legs fall open. Then, and only then, was she completely and unashamedly bare to him.

Edward felt the air rip from his chest, awakening a lust inside him stronger than any other. He had the greatest impulse to fall to his knees and worship the space between Isabella's legs, to touch and taste every inch of her. A small, bulbous mound near the top of her folds protruded further than the rest, and he could no longer restrain his urges. He reached a finger down to swipe against the mound cautiously; barely a ghost of a touch, yet Isabella elicited the most tormented of moans. His finger came back slick and wet with her desire. His tongue darted from his lips to taste her, sweeter than any fruit.

"Again," she pleaded, head falling against the pillow in abandon.

Edward could not deny her.

His lips returned to her sex with renewed fervor. Soon, he was lost in the siren song of her moans, enraptured by the way her body arched off the bed as she chased her pleasure. She was lost to it quickly enough, her entire body convulsing as she found ecstasy. Edward was treated to more than just a taste of her this time, devouring all the juices as they poured forth.

"Are you alright?" Edward had to ask when he pulled away. Out of all the women he had been with, none of them had looked quite as dazed as Isabella did in this moment.

"Quite," Isabella replied, still trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through Edward's hair, mussing it further. She smiled, so much easier and freer than he had seen before. "No one has ever done that for me before."

Anger coursed through Edward's veins. Not at Isabella, but at the King. What kind of ignorant bastard neglected an absolute treasure such as this?

"What a crime that is," Edward growled into the soft skin of Isabella's belly, rucking up her nightgown inch by inch, worshiping each section of exposed skin as he went.

The hand in his hair tightened towards painful when he reached her breasts, lips latching on to the nearest one and sucking on the nipple. Isabella cried out, his name falling from her lips in what sounded like prayer. Edward prayed himself that the servants in these parts were either deaf or courteous enough to mind their own business, for surely the amount of noise they made could be heard for halls upon halls.

Lips found lips and Isabella was not afraid to taste herself on Edward's tongue, moaning into his mouth instead of the open air. She took as much as he took, biting and pulling and licking and soothing. What need was there for air when Edward could breathe in Isabella?

Their moves became frenzied. Isabella's hands fumbled for his belt, desperate to be even closer. Edward, himself, was not much better, trembling hands making a mess of such a simple task. After much effort, the belt fell to the floor alongside Isabella's nightgown. She grasped at the fabric near the curve of his ass, shoving his trousers past his thighs and digging her fingers into the exposed flesh. Edward was embarrassed of the sound he made, but the gasp he got out of Isabella as he pushed her back into the pillows was retaliation enough.

Isabella watched Edward with lust-addled brown eyes as he rid himself of the rest of his clothes, quickly returning to bed once the garments were gone. With nothing left between them, Edward felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. Despite the aching throb between his legs, there remained the remnants of uncertainty.

Was this really what he wanted? Was this worth giving everything he ever knew or fought for up for? Had Isabella truly forgiven him, or was he being presumptuous in his taking?

Then, Isabella's hand wrapped around his length and his vision exploded into white. An intense pleasure wracked him as she gave his cock languid strokes - so intense that it banished all thoughts other than Isabella. There was no more balls, no more secrets, no more dangerous foes. There was no more uncertainty. This was what he wanted, and he could wait no longer.

"Isabella…"

He willed her to understand his body, which was screaming to be inside her.

"Do you consent?" he asked, peering down at the woman below him through hooded lids. From up above, Edward could see how flushed Isabella's skin had become - the pink of her cheeks, the livid bites along her throat, the reddening of her breasts. Absolutely mesmerizing. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," Isabella breathed, her voice all but gone. Edward took pride in knowing that he had been the one to do that to her.

Edward took himself from Isabella's grip, slippery hands brushing over one another as she went to grasp his arm and he went to position himself at her entry. Dear God above, she was so wet, shining lips parting with ease, taking him so easily inside her body. Edward forced himself to push in slowly, and nearly came from the sensation alone.

"God…Isabella…" Edward moaned as he sheathed himself in her heat, seeking more of what her body could give.

A hand reached forward, brushing its way up his taut stomach to the dip of his belly button and further still until it reached the plane of his left breast. Fingers splayed over the warm skin until she found what lied underneath, the steady thrum he could now feel pulsing through his body through their shared connection.

"I can feel you," she breathed with wonder.

Edward could not help the stutter of his hips. He moved deep within Isabella, her responding moan equivalent to all the choirs of angels, and all rational thought that remained flew out the window.

They were both skilled in this dance, this push and pull that had both of their chests heaving and breaths coming in labored pants. Her legs came up to frame his hips, opening as wide as she could to accommodate him. One set of hands were laced and pressed firmly down into the mattress, grips so tight that Edward could feel her nails digging crescent moons into his palms. The other hands were elsewhere: groping at skin, hips, waists, breasts. Isabella's hands dared to reach down to pleasure herself, surely reflex after years of being left unsatisfied. The thought was offensive; this woman should be treated like the queen she was, always. Edward yanked Isabella's hands away, replacing them with his own.

She arched her back as she cried out his name, hips rolling frantically to meet his to find her release. The sight took Edward's breath away, and was exactly what he needed to push himself over the edge.

When all was said and done, and they basked in the glow of candlelight, Isabella was the one to break the silence.

"Who did this to you?"

Her fingers had been gently running over his bruises, cataloguing every bump and dip. In the heat of their passion, Edward had forgotten about the abuse to his body. Now that he had time to settle, he could feel the aches and sharp pains radiating from where Jasper had beaten him combined with the muscle burning that came with the exertion of a good fuck.

"I do not think Jasper and I are going to be spending much time together after the masquerade is over," Edward replied, aiming for nonchalance and settling on tired acceptance. "In fact, he threatened to kill me."

Isabella's hands stilled. "What?"

She sounded so upset in that one word that Edward could not stand not touching her. He scooped up the hand that had been mapping his broken places and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"No need to fear, it happens at least once a night. He never does. Though, he did seem rather serious this time."

"You have so many enemies..." Isabella said, turning her head so that he could not see her face. Edward did not have to see her to hear the worry. "I am used to combatting words, jealous actions of petty courtiers. But your enemies mean to do you true harm. Any one could cost you your life."

"Do not diminish the battles you have fought. Words can cut deep as any knife," Edward said in earnest. "You are the strongest woman I know."

Isabella turned her head back towards him, her eyes bright and shining, if still laced with melancholy. Edward had no greater want than to kiss it all away. And he could. He held that privilege now.

However, he never got the chance to perform it. For, as their lips were about to touch, the sound of a door creaking startled the lovers apart.

Spooked, Isabella drew the blankets to chest. She gave Edward a concerned look. "Did you hear that?"

Edward nodded once, pushing back the sheets and getting to his feet. He grabbed his trousers from where they lied on the ground, hopping in one leg after the other on his way to the door. He was certain it had been shut when he entered. He remembered the slam of Alice's departure clearly.

Something was amiss.

"Stay here. I will see what it is."

Isabella nodded, pulling the sheet up to cover herself further.

Edward felt a shift in himself as he crept out of Isabella's chambers, the lover replacing itself with the soldier, all defenses slipping back into place. If it were a true danger, Edward felt badly leaving Isabella in such a vulnerable state. She would have no means to defend herself. He hoped he was just being paranoid, checking behind all possible corners, pillars, and curtains.

There was nothing. Not a single soul, not even a rat. It should have put him at ease. Perhaps the creak was the old wood shifting in its frame. Anyone else would have been satisfied with a rationale like that. Not Edward. The lack of persons only heightened his suspicions .

 _He should get back to Isabella_ , he thought. He did not like being so far from her, and the shadows cast long across these dark halls. Never before had they seemed so ominous. Never before had he had reason to fear them.

The light still glowed dim from inside Isabella's chambers. Edward did his best to conceal his reentry, making sure his steps were swift and silent, that no servant had seen his person slipping into the Queen's chamber unannounced.

Perhaps he was becoming paranoid after all.

"Strange. There was no one there."

Edward turned around and the bed was empty. Isabella was gone.


	24. Day Eleven

A/N: Hello loves! This chapter has **warnings for physical mutilation, violence, and torture**. Only two more days to go! Can you believe that the masquerade is almost over? I sure can't! Thank you for all your lovely reviews, and to everyone who has faved/followed this story! Also thank you to all those who voted for The River God's Wife on TwiFanFicRecs - it ranked 6th in the best stories completed in July 2019! XOXOX

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Day Eleven

The first thing Isabella noticed when she woke was the ceiling.

It was not her own, for it lacked the familiar crown moldings and intricate designs. This one was a simple, weathered thing crafted of exposed wooden beams, nails visible where it was slapped together. There were faint cracks in said wood, like storms had broken pieces away. A single barred window just beneath those beams let sunlight stream in. One of the streams had a perfect line to Isabella's eyes. It was that which woke her: the relentless sunlight that nearly blinded her. Isabella turned her head to avoid losing her vision permanently.

The rest of the apartment was equally as unfamiliar. Austere in its bareness, there was only a bed and a night table to furnish the space. A wardrobe shut closed sat in the far corner, and a stool with wobbling legs sat across from it. The wood floors were as weathered and rough as the ceiling; Isabella could feel herself getting splinters through her nightgown every time she shifted her body.

The second thing Isabella noticed was that it was warm. Uncomfortably so, to the point that her nightgown was damp with sweat, her forehead beading with perspiration.

How had she gotten here? Surely it was not of her own volition. Her memory was proving unhelpful. One moment she was in bed with Edward, the next he was leaving to check a disturbance in the hall and then... _nothing_.

Isabella tried to sit up, as she was leaning against something metal and uncomfortable, but felt her body jerk backwards by the wrists. Frantically, she looked up to see that her wrists had been bound tightly with rope, keeping her tied to the radiator. The metal contraption was steadily generating heat, its coils starting to rust, unforgiving edges adding to the chafing barrier of the rope.

Perhaps she could use the rusted parts to cut the rope? It was a long shot, as the sharp edges were nothing more than flakes and the rope was thick, but worth a try. She had no idea where she was or who had taken her, but she had no want to find out.

When she had gotten no further than a couple futile rubs across the flakes, the door swung open.

Jasper stood in the doorway, jacket gone and dress shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned so that the pale expanse of his clavicle was visible. He ran a hand through his mess of blond hair, pushing it from those piercing blue eyes.

"Ah, you are awake. Finally."

Jasper locked the door behind him, walked across the room, and pulled the stool towards her. It sat barely above ground level, hardly comfortable, but Jasper had no problem lowering himself down onto it, sitting across from her, studying her as a predator would prey. He clasped his hands in between his legs, threading bony fingers together. This close together, Isabella could see the silvery scars across his knuckles...silvery scars and the faint purple of bruises that matched the pattern on Edward's ribcage.

"What do you want?" Isabella found the voice to ask, impressed with how steady she sounded despite the increasing unease. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You see, Miss Alice, I have been doing some thinking, and things do not quite add up," Jasper explained, his blue eyes holding Isabella captive just as much as her physical binds. "My questions are these: How does a mere kitchen girl, a worthless nobody, know so much about the Queen? How does she gain access to the Queen's chambers late at night? How does she find the gall to lie so brazenly in the Queen's bed?"

He cocked his head in faux-contemplation. Surely, a man of his intelligence already had multiple working theories. He was simply gauging Isabella's reaction, filing through all possible routes, and selecting the most likely.

Isabella took a deep breath and remained impassive. Jasper would have to try harder if he wanted to get anything from her.

"Yes, well, no one ever accused me of making good decisions."

Jasper's lips curled into an almost-smile, haunting in its emptiness. "And of what have you been accused?"

Isabella returned his smile in kind. "No good."

Jasper's smile took on a hint of sincerity. Isabella wished it had remained empty, for what was sincere was the cruelty. It was that manic glint of a chase, of a hunt, of a prey that would fight back.

"I must admit Miss Alice, you are quite good. An amateur, but good."

Isabella's relief was a physical thing, her heart stuttering and slowing as the panic ebbed. _Alice._ She could have laughed in his face. For all his intelligence, all his observation and all his self-professed excellence, he still believed her original ruse. She figured that was the only reason her heart still inside her chest and not impaled on the edge of a cursed blade.

"You think that this is a deception?"

"I _know_ that this is a deception," Jasper snarled, grabbing Isabella's face and pinching her cheeks together so hard she was sure his finger would leave bruises. His violence was so sudden and so unexpected that Isabella felt herself struggled to catch her breath, unsure of what to look out for next. "I _know_ that for many nights now, you have wormed your way into Edward's heart, turning him against me, against his country, and that whatever this is is meant to deter me from gaining what I have worked so hard to procure. So what are you, hmm? A spy? A mole?"

Jasper released Isabella's face enough for her to speak. At least that was what he expected.

He most definitely did not expect to be spat at.

Just as she did not expect the returning back hand.

Most gentlemen would never dare to lay hands on a lady. It was her fault for presuming that Jasper was anything close to resembling a gentleman. His bony knuckles surely did leave a nasty impression. She and Edward would be sporting matching bruises. And her lip would be split for a while from all its recent abuse.

Isabella spat out blood on the ground, her teeth stained red in a smile. "My mother strikes with more force than you."

Jasper wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt, feral smile blown wide. "I can see why Edward is enamored by you. You are so much more than a simple kitchen girl, aren't you?"

The smile on Isabella's face faded to determination of stone. "Even if I were those things, I would never tell."

"Quite right," Jasper hummed, turning his hands in his lap, contemplating. "Let me guess, to protect Edward?"

Isabella jutted out her chin but refused to answer. Jasper smiled a cruel smile.

"I bet you think you love him. I bet you believe the mask he wears only goes as far as the black silk. But you do not even know him." Jasper's voice was like venom drip drip dripping in her ear as his breath washed over her face, far too close for comfort. "Oh, the stories I could tell you about your _precious_ Edward. The people he's killed - the women, the _children_. That man can turn carnage into an art form. Oh, the lives he has had to _butcher..._ it would turn your stomach."

"Stop!" Isabella begged, illness creeping up her throat. "Stop it!"

It was such a shame to cry in front of Jasper, but the tears were a mix of all the fear and fury that Isabella could no longer contain.

"Dear Alice, stop crying. You will ruin your pretty face," Jasper chided, calloused thumbs coming to roughly swipe away tears. It was almost gentle, what he was doing. Gentle and soothing. Isabella had to fight the urge to let her cheek nuzzle into his palm, feeling far too much like a fly ensnared in a spider's web.

Then, Jasper tilted her chin back thoughtfully, his grip still tight, something awful sparking through those cruel blue eyes. "Let us see how much Edward loves you when you are just as ugly on the outside as he is within."

Isabella did not have time to ask him what he meant. His meaning was clear enough as he took that hand - the one that had previously soothed her tears - and fisted it in the curls at the base of her skull, yanking her head back and smashing the side of her face against the radiator.

The pain was instantaneous: hot and bright and unbearable. Like every inch of her skin was boiling, peeling, festering, and falling away, leaving nothing but heat and agony behind.

Isabella screamed. Jasper laughed.

He must have adjusted the heat when Isabella was not paying attention. Now, she could feel it everywhere, all around her, high temperatures sending her to the deepest pits of Hell.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and those burned away too, evaporating against the sizzling metal. Every time she thrashed it only shifted which part of her face burned, hot metal licking more: her wrists as she fought the binds, her palms as tried to push away, her elbow as she banged it in a fury. And she could smell it: her flesh burning, that vile smell of sick and death and blood.

Just when she thought she was going to give up on this world, Jasper pulled away.

The lack of fire gave her whiplash. The warm air felt like the arctic. It stung worse than the heat, cold prickling at all her overblown sense. Her stomach turned and her head spun.

It was too much sensation, all of it horrible, terrible.

Isabella pitched forward, heaving the acid from her stomach onto the scuffed floors. The bile should have been hot, but it felt like a relief, the acidic fluid a matching corrosive against her ruined lip. She let herself lie there, as far away from the boiling radiator as she could, her body bent at an angle that made her muscles cry out in almost as much pain as her face. But it was better than the alternative.

"Now, are we willing to try this again?"

Jasper's voice sounded melodic, his question posed as if prompting a child who had forgotten to ask for something without first saying 'please'. The absurdity of it when held in comparison to the violence he committed did not go unnoticed.

"The King knows," Isabella gasped through the pain, shocked to hear laughs escaping her. "The King knows what you are. He knows, and he plans to kill you, invade your kingdom, claim it as his own."

Perhaps it was a foolish thing to say. Perhaps it would have been better to create a lie. But Jasper would have seen right through any of her attempts to swindle him. Besides, she wanted to see the look on his face when he realized that he was not the only clever man in the room. Everyone thought Jacob was a dimwit, herself included. And oh, Jasper's reaction did not disappoint, his face flittering through confusion, surprise, more confusion, suspicion, acceptance, and an overall tint of rage.

"What?" Jasper snarled, reclaiming his fistful of Isabella's hair and yanking her head back hard so that she had no escape from those evil eyes. They were angry, yes, but they were also a bit panicked. Good. He deserved some hell as well.

"The armies of Forks will march for the King. Volterra will fall. You are all going to die."

Isabella let out another deranged laugh. It hurt to stretch her burnt skin that way, to let the half of her that was blistered and bloody feel anything. But she laughed through the pain, through her tears. It was either laugh or give into the fear, and she would be damned if she gave Jasper anything else.

The hand in her hair tightened further.

"We shall see about that."

Jasper grasped Isabella's left forearm and smashed it to the radiator.

The burning had barely begun before the pain took her under.

.o.O.O.o.

The first thing Isabella noticed when she returned to consciousness was the breeze.

It was crisp and steady and _cool_. She could feel cool, now. It still stung against the raw burns on the one side of her face. It still hurt to part her lips, to turn her head from side to side and disturb the damaged skin. From the depths of her soul, she had a feeling that this was a pain she would carry the rest of her life.

The second thing she noticed was the darkness.

Beams of fading daylight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room. It was near sunset, if she had to guess. Close enough to masquerade time that the real Alice would question her absence. Long enough for Edward to have gone mad with her disappearance.

Part of her hopeless, romantic heart was hoping he was out there, looking for her. Part of her darker, more cynical mind wondered if this was all part of his elaborate plan. He was a spy from the same territory as Jasper after all. But that was a quickly banished thought. As much as Jasper knew Edward and his terrible deeds, Isabella also knew him. She knew him intimately, in a way she could feel was true down to his core. There was some things that could not be faked, and that feeling was not one of them.

If Edward was looking for her, he needed to hurry. There was no telling how long this torment would last...or what would remain of her by the time Jasper had had his fill.

Speaking of the Devil...

Jasper stood like a shadow across the room, looking steadily on at Isabella. She shifted against the blessedly-cool radiator, feeling the flakes of rust digging into her skin, insanely grateful for a distraction from the pain on her face.

She eyed him warily as he moved, now dressed in a fresh black suit. All his suits looked the same, night after night.

"I have to leave now," Jasper announced as he straightened his tie, his suit rippling with far too many sharp angles. The mask in his hand was a plain black, the same as Edward wore. "Never fear, I will be back before dawn. And then, when I have procured the Queen's heart in one hand and your lover in another, I shall take great pleasure in making Edward watch as I cut you apart."

A chill stole down Isabella's spine as she watched Jasper leave, the invisible countdown of her final hours ticking.

Fighting was an impossibility. The ropes were too thick to cut and too tight to wiggle out of. And she was in no condition to do much in the way of ripping the radiator off the wall by physical force. There was only one thing she could do now.

Isabella closed her eyes and looked towards the sky, repeating a singular prayer: _Edward, find me._


	25. Night Eleven

A/N: Hello loves! This chapter has **warnings for violence**. Not near the amount as the last chapter, but violence all the same. I won't say Jasper is a psychopath, because, as someone said in the comments, that would be an insult to people with real mental disease. He is simply evil. A master manipulator without a conscience and a heart. Which makes him so good at what he does. Unfortunately, things have to get a little worse before they get better! Only one more day left! And about 4 more chapters!

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Night Eleven

Eighteen hours.

It had been eighteen hours since Edward last saw Isabella, and nearly double that since he last slept. For the second night in a row, he looked a wreck. He was forced to wear the same suit from the previous night, the suit that still smelled of sex and Isabella, rumpled and creased in all the telling ways of being removed in a hasty, unchaste manner. His hair had not seen a mirror, nor had his face, for stubble grew in patches across his jaw and chin. He must have looked most unkempt, hardly deserving of the coveted Twelve Night's Masquerade invitation.

But Edward did not give a care as to how others perceived him. No, he was a man of single focus, and that focus was finding Isabella.

At first he thought she may have left on purpose, slipped out a secret corridor after regret from their coupling set in. But after an extensive search of the Queen's chambers, followed by the arrival of a very concerned Alice, Edward realized that something was very, very wrong.

Only worst case scenarios took root in Edward's mind after that, the most prominent being that Jasper had taken her, or the king. Both would be equally bad but for different reasons. The King could rule over Isabella's heart, and Jasper could, quite literally, take it.

Jasper, himself, was looking and acting no different than usual, but that meant nothing. The both of them specialized in discretion. If anything had changed, Jasper made it clear that Edward would never know unless he wanted him to. Still, if he had taken Isabella, that seemed like the sort of thing Jasper would jump at the chance to flaunt, if only to get a rise out of Edward and beat him up again.

Edward did not know what to think. All he knew for certain was that the longer Isabella stayed gone, the more frantic he became.

In the main ballroom, guests poured through the double doors. Edward surveyed each one. None of them were Isabella. A waiter came by with a tray of hors-d'oeuvres: spiced meat balls poured over with a cream sauce. The meat was overcooked and the sauce bland. Clearly not Isabella's work, so the kitchen was off the list of possibilities.

He needed a drink. A drink or a distraction to keep him from thinking the worst.

"A little early to be sporting such a tousled look, eh?"

Edward fought the urge to groan...or punch Jasper in his smug, smarmy face. True, Edward wanted a distraction, but not this kind.

"I did not take you as the kind to extoll such virtue."

"Hardly," Jasper scoffed, eyes rolling, though the never wavered from the crowd of nobles. "Your appearance is drawing attention."

As if Edward did not already notice this himself. As if he could not feel the judgmental stares and the withering comments that had started the moment Tanya Denali walked into the room and opened her fat mouth. As if the king had not been watching him like a hawk, dark eyes cast his way every few minutes.

"Come, let us speak in private," Jasper said, his arm swung wide in invitation to follow out the nearest hall. It was the friendliest he had been in quite some time. Edward's suspicions were immediately raised.

"Do you not have any wooing to do? This is the penultimate night."

"Romance can wait. I will only take a second of your precious time. Unless you have somewhere else to be?"

Was this a test? Admit he was off to find Isabella - _Alice_ \- and he would fail and find himself dead in a ditch somewhere? Edward narrowed his eyes. Either he could accept the invitation and regret it, or decline the invitation and regret it. Either way, he was in the losing situation. Jasper's smile seemed to indicate he knew just that.

"Nowhere else," Edward lied, forcing his own smile.

Edward did not like having his back to Jasper. It was all too vulnerable to a knife, and Edward did not put such a dishonorable attack beneath Jasper. The more time they spent together, the more Edward realized that Jasper was capable of anything. So, Edward put his focus on mapping out exit strategies - _bay windows around the turn, service tunnel behind the pillar_ \- and on finding all the viable weapons in the room - _curtain ties good for strangulation, vases can be smashed and shards for stabbing, coat of arms has removable swords_.

They walked side by side with matching strides, nodding to all the notable men and women of the court. To anyone who passed them by, nothing would be amiss. They were just two associates taking a walk to refresh themselves before rejoining the festivities. Only they, themselves, knew that there was more to this than met the eye.

They walked until they saw no more party goers. They walked until it was only them and the long shadows cast by the candelabras on the walls. Then they stood face to face, both watching the other, waiting, wondering.

"So, what is so urgent that even wooing the queen can wait?"

Jasper smirked, took a breath, opened his mouth and said -

"Mister Masen!"

No, that was not Jasper.

Both men turned to see Princess Rachel storming their way, her navy gown billowing behind her like a storm cloud. However, the flouncing feathers in her bouffant made her look more like an outraged crow. She must have followed them this way, biding her time until she could make a most dramatic entrance.

Jasper swiftly intercepted the princess before she could make any physical blow, his body a wall between she and her target. His smile was simpering, faltering in its patience, and Edward knew the tone to follow would be the falsest and most patronizing he had ever heard.

"Excuse me, Your Highness, but my associate and I were in the middle - "

"I could give less than two figs about your associate!" Princess Rachel spat, pushing herself between the two men so Jasper was cut out of the picture entirely. From over her shoulder, Edward could see Jasper's face shift into an expression of cold fury. A dose of fear ran through him - not for himself, but for the princess. She should not be there for her own safety. She should run while she still had the chance.

"Perhaps we could carry on with this conversation at a later time?"

Edward tried to steer the princess back from where she came, but she held her ground and shoved him back.

"Perhaps you could explain to me what you were doing in the Queen's chambers last night!"

Edward felt himself tensing, his heart rate ramping up, but his training kept his expression a calm neutral.

"I assure you I have no idea what you are speak - "

"I saw you," she cut him off, her voice low and livid. Her dark eyes were narrowed to slits, judging him with all the condemnation she was capable. "I came by last night and I _saw_ you with her _._ "

Ah, so Rachel was the mysterious creaking behind the door, the phantom in the hall. That was one mystery solved. An irksome, invasive solution at that. Edward had a flash of sympathy for Isabella. To think, she had to live with the likes of that invasion of privacy for nearly a decade. Edward would have gone mad from it before the first year was up.

Now, it was hard to school his irritation. One part of Edward wanted to tell Rachel off. But the other part of Edward knew that Rachel was a princess, and telling off the Princess of Forks was the quickest way to the gallows. Oh, Isabella's plight became even more sympathized.

Edward pulled on his best spy smile and dipped his head. "My apologies for anything you think you might have saw."

"Do not give me that!" Princess Rachel's voice had reached an octave so high and so shrill it was a wonder she could still keep it contained. "I thought that we had an agreement! I thought that we were on the same side!"

"Once more, I apologize. Obviously, I changed my mind."

"Obviously," Princess Rachel mimicked cruelly, puffing up her chest and turning up her nose in that high and mighty way that signaled the apex of a tantrum. "You understand what I have to do next? I will have to tell my brother about this. And then, I shall have to have you and your associated dragged out of the palace by your ears and executed in the most unpleasant of - "

Two taps to Rachel's shoulder had her stopping mid-rant and spinning around furiously.

"What?"

It was Edward's fault for losing track of Jasper's other hand. For there was no time to react as he drew a blade and slashed the princess' throat wide open.

Her anger was quickly replaced with shock, followed by fear. While she could no longer scream, rendered soundless, her eyes were blown wide, pleading, wondering _why?_ White-gloved hands flew to her throat - now wide open and gaping, spraying arcs of blood all over Edward's suit, his face, his hands. She crumpled as if Jasper had cut her strings as well, and Edward was quick to catch her before she landed on the ground.

The dying woman gasped her final gasp in Edward's arms, her dark eyes dimming as they locked onto his. They spoke of an incredible blame, making it known that she well and fully held them both responsible for her fate. If she could speak, surely she would use this time to curse them. Instead, Edward watched her die in silence and felt pity well inside of him. True, he did not care for the waspish princess, but she did not deserve a death like this.

"What have you done?" Edward asked, aghast. He was ashamed to say that he was trembling, shaken by a display of such careless viciousness.

This was no common whore or servant Jasper had murdered. This was the Princess of Forks. This was the King's sister. Her absence would be noticed. Her death would demand retribution. Her death would blow their covers open wider. Her death would give the King all he needed to have their heads on pikes.

Jasper had ruined them both.

Had he gone completely insane?

"She was getting in the way," Jasper replied, as if the reason were simple. As if the only way to solve a problem was to cut it down. "Besides, I do so hate being interrupted."

"This was not part of the plan."

"As I told you last night: plans change," Jasper said with a brutal finality. "Now, get rid of the body."

"Excuse me?" Edward protested, outraged at the gall. "I will have no part of this."

"Oh? Did I not warn you of the consequences of disobeying me?" Jasper countered, still wielding the bloody knife as a threat, both of them knowing full well there was another woman with a perfectly good throat to cut. "I did say that I may need you. You did agree to help when I asked. Otherwise your alternative is for me to call the guards and report the gruesome death of their beloved Princess at the hands of a Volterran spy."

"You would sell yourself out that quickly?"

"I am not the one covered in her blood."

Edward looked down at his sanguine suit compared to Jasper's spotless one. He had not even thought to step out of the way of the spray, too caught up in the horror of the moment. What a morbid, damning picture Edward made. He knew that Jasper was right, that no matter the truth, all the evidence pointed to Edward. Jasper could not have devised a greater blackmail if he tried. For the time being, Edward was resigned to playing fortune's fool.

He wanted to rage. He wanted to cry. He wanted to choke the life from Jasper's lungs and savor the look of them blown wide with disbelief - that yes, it was Edward, his partner, the very man he underestimated and belittled all this time - who dealt his final blow. But Edward could have none of those things. Not now. Not when his was not the only fate in the balance. Not while a dead princess laid heavy in his arms and his love remained missing.

Jasper turned to leave, not sticking around to help. He cast a glance over his shoulder, a final warning.

"And do hurry. I believe I heard voices from the other end of the hall."

Times like these let Edward know that God did not exist. Not that Edward believed in a higher power on any given day, but if one did happen to exist, pulling on the invisible strings that tethered everyone to this world, not even They would be as sadistic and as cruel as to let someone like Jasper continue living while other, better people died by his hand. Edward liked to think he was a believer in karma, that everyone got what they deserved in the end. Perhaps Edward did deserve this, that these last few days full of trials and tribulations were his penance for choosing a life of cruelty and crime. If that was so, then when would Jasper ever get his? Edward would make damned sure to be the one who delivered it, this he swore to every higher power in which he did not believe.

The princess grew colder in his arms, her skin paling due to the blood that found itself seeping into the carpet instead of running through her veins. Even if he moved the body, he would have a hell of a time finding a way to cover the stain. Small blessings that the carpet was already red. In the darkness of night it was hard to tell exactly what shade. Perhaps it could pass as wine...

And how terrible was it, Edward thought, that he could switch off the part of him that felt so quickly. Terrible, but necessary. He would not survive the night, nor any after, if he did not have the skill to separate himself from what he was about to do next. Out of all the deeds he had done, this one was by far the worst.

May the powers that may or may not be have mercy on his soul.

Another prayer, another far more important, filtered through the chaos as well. Edward tipped his head up to the ceiling, thinking he could see into the clouds above, and shut his eyes.

 _Isabella, forgive me._


End file.
